


Patchwork

by seutedeern



Category: Music RPF, The Beatles
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Baby Beatles, Character Death, F/M, Liverpool, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:37:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 57,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8070067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seutedeern/pseuds/seutedeern
Summary: What if Jim had never married Angela, but someone else? And what if things had gone wrong during John and Paul's first meeting?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm uploading this fic which I finished three years ago on AO3 solely for archive purposes. :)

“Paul, Michael… I must tell you something.” Jim paused meaningfully, waiting for his sons to look up from their meal. “I know how hard it was for you both when we lost… your… your mother.” He cleared his throat. “It’s been a hard time for me as well, you can believe me, but I think that the time has come –”

Paul had already stopped listening to his father’s speech the moment he had mentioned his mother. It still hurt too much that she wasn’t around anymore. He absentmindedly chewed on his tasteless food and tried to think of something else – music, guitars, strumming a few chords alone in his room – when a sudden shriek from his younger brother startled him. He looked up from his dish to glance at Mike, still chewing slowly. Then, he looked at his father, who looked rather hurt by Mike’s reaction to what he had just said.

“What’s the matter?” Paul blurted out, shoving another fork into his mouth.

“I just said that I’ve married again.”

Paul choked on his food, tried to gasp for air, but his face already went red. Michael helplessly patted his back, while Jim, exclaiming “Jesus Christ!”, quickly got up from his chair and tried to help his son by hitting his back repeatedly. “Come on Paul, get it out!”

The boy coughed heavily, already saying goodbye to his young life, when he suddenly managed to cough the nasty bit out. It landed on the table and the McCartneys looked at it for a few seconds, before they showed a reaction.

“You… You’re married?!” Paul wheezed angrily – as angry as one could get when trying to regain composure. “What were you thinking?!”

“Paul, I can understand that you’re upset, but please try to see it my way…” Jim begged, but his son wouldn’t listen.

“Have you gone mad?! You-you just can’t replace mum that easily after less than a bloody year!”

“Watch your language!”

“Watch _yours_!” Paul yelled back and ran upstairs, leaving his speechless father and his scared brother behind.

What was his father thinking? What on earth could have possessed him to do such a thing?! Paul paced furiously around in his tiny room, kicking everything that was in his way.

And who was this woman, anyway? Jim had never mentioned her before, let alone showing that he was _in love_ again.

Paul shuddered at the mere thought. He was disgusted by his father’s selfishness. He still had two children to take care of, why hadn’t he asked them first before he got _bloody married?!_

He slumped down onto his bed, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of exhaustion. He didn’t know what to do anymore. And what about Mike? What would he think of it? From his reaction at the table, Paul could tell that his brother hadn’t been pleased about the news either.

He looked around his room and noticed the date in his calendar. 6th of July… Hadn’t he planned something for that day?

When he looked at his little calendar, he remembered. He wanted to meet Ivan soon, so they both could go to that fête over at Woolton. He wanted to introduce him to some other blokes. But Paul didn’t really feel like it. And yet, he didn’t want to stay here, under the same roof with his father.

He took a look into the mirror, checking if he looked alright, and left his room. When he walked downstairs, he heard his father calling his name.

“I hope you haven’t planned anything for tomorrow.” Jim said from the kitchen; he was cleaning the dishes together with Michael.

“ _Why?_ ” Paul asked, his voice sounded harsher than intended.

“Because I want to introduce you two to my wife. She’ll come round tomorrow.”

Paul only rolled his eyes and tried to suppress the anger flaring up inside of him.

“Oh and she’s got a child. They’re going to move in during the next few days.”

Paul couldn’t believe the nonchalant tone in his father’s voice. He was speechless, dumbfounded. What could he reply to so much bloody _indifference_?!

“Fuck you and your wife.” He muttered silently to himself as he left the house, banging the door loudly.

During his bus ride to Ivan’s home, Paul couldn’t forget his dad’s words. She would already visit them tomorrow – together with her _child_. And they would move in soon as well. Forthlin Road was already crowded enough with three people, so how were _five_ supposed to live in there?

Paul hated his father – a feeling which had been unusual to him until then, since it had _always_ been _him_ , who had been obedient and had tried to avoid any trouble.

But a marriage? This topic was far too sensitive and upsetting for the 15-year-old boy’s soul.

Soon his destination arrived and Paul got off the bus. It wasn’t a long distance to Ivan’s house, but it gave Paul enough time to put on a brave face. Not everyone needed to know what was going on in the McCartney household.

As Paul approached Ivan’s home, he already spotted his friend sitting on the front door’s step, waiting for him.

“Hi!” Ivan said when Paul opened the front gate. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Paul. “Trouble with my dad.”

He avoided Ivan’s curious look and picked imaginary lint from his jacket. At last, the other boy just shrugged and together they set off for the Church fête.

When they arrived at the church, the first thing Paul could hear, was loud noise; guitars being violated and savage drumming on something metallic. And to Paul it sounded _great_.

“Is there a band playing?” he asked curiously, as they both walked over the grave yard.

“Remember my friend? The one I want to introduce you to?” Ivan replied. “He’s in that band.”

“What are they called?”

“The Quarrymen.”

“ _Quarrymen_ …” Paul repeated silently, savouring the sound on his tongue. What an odd name.

As they finally got to see the stage, Paul saw a small crowd of teenagers dancing in front of it, moving their bodies wildly to the music. Or what one _could_ call _music_.

Now that he had come closer to the stage, he noticed that the member of the Quarrymen had actually no idea of what they were actually doing. They might have played chords, but some of them were horribly wrong.

And this particular boy in the front – who was dressed in a red and white checked shirt, sort of gangly and looking like quite the dominant aggressive kind of lad – didn’t even know the right lyrics to the songs he was singing.

But Paul didn’t mind at all. He was cackling when that boy sang “Come go with me to the penitentiary.” It was hilarious.

He felt himself immediately drawn to this band, and especially enchanted by their singer. He was cool, a real ted. Dangerous and rough. Paul even wondered if that boy was involved in criminal activities…

That thought thrilled him and made his heart skip a beat.

He and Ivan watched the rest of the performance and waited a little while till they would go into the building to join the other boys. Paul felt sort of sick by now, restless, nervous. He self-consciously touched his hair every now and then, checked if his clothes were alright.

Then, when Ivan said they could go in and see the others now – because now it was cool to say ‘Hi’ – Paul had to stop himself from running straight to the band and telling them how great he thought they were. Or at least their front man.

“Nice show.” Ivan greeted his friends as he and Paul approached the others.

The boy in the red and white checked shirt gave Ivan a suspicious look, before he gave him a spastic smile as a reply. _What a strange bloke_ , Paul thought.

“That’s Paul,” Ivan said. “He’s my schoolmate and he also plays the guitar.”

The boy didn’t say anything at first. He was only staring at Paul, scrutinising him with a mocking expression.

“I’m John.” He finally said after something what had seemed to Paul like aeons. “You play the guitar, too, then?”

Paul nodded quickly. “Yeah, but not good.”

John grinned. “Well then, care to show me what you can play, anyway?”

Paul swallowed hard. “My guitar’s at home…”

“You can have mine.” John handed him his instrument and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and with an expectant, _challenging_ expression on his face.

“Fine.” Paul said and turned the guitar upside down. And then he began to play.

He was nervous, especially because of the _way_ he had to _play_ now, but somehow he managed to play _Twenty Flight Rock_ without any mistakes. And he remembered all the lyrics.

When he finished, he looked from the instrument in his hands back to John, whose face was unreadable. Without saying a word, Paul handed the guitar back and let out and a cough in order to conceal his embarrassment. Why was he so nervous?

“Nice.” John said, who had found his speech again.

Paul relaxed a bit and smiled back mildly, pleased to hear John’s praise.

“Do you play other instruments, too?”

“Only a bit of the piano. My… my dad taught me a few songs.”

“There’s a piano over there.” John picked up a half-filled bottle of beer from the ground and emptied it within a few gulps.

Paul eyed him with a half-surprised, half-shocked expression. He had never tried beer before, and now there was this John, who hadn’t already been quite sober when he had been standing on stage.

“Sure…” Paul mumbled and hurried over to the piano. He decided to play something that his father would always play at home.

But the mere thought of his father, though, distracted Paul so much from his surroundings that he didn’t notice John standing behind him. The older boy threw one arm around Paul’s shoulders and interrupted his playing with a poor version of the _Flea Waltz_.

The smell of alcohol and cheap aftershave was overwhelming Paul. It dizzied his mind and for a short moment, he forgot to breathe. John leaned heavily against him, still occupied with playing wrong notes and still laughing like mad.

Soon, though, a nervous giggle escaped Paul’s dry lips. They both started to fool around on the piano, whilst the other boys were staring at them in disbelief.

After a while, John suddenly stopped and yawned loudly, stretching his gangly body.

“Alright, enough of this.” he said. “You might be quite good, but we don’t need a fat baby in our band. Other people might think we’re daft.”

This was the least thing Paul had expected him to say. His cheeks reddened with shame, but he felt anger roaring through him when he finally realised that John had called him a _fat baby_.

Fat. He already hated it when Mike nicknamed him _Fatty_ , but now with this drunk bastard, he had had enough.

“You know what?!” Paul asked, still trying to hold back his anger. “I don’t want to be part of a mediocre group of dim-witted wankers, who can’t play the guitar if their life was depended on it!”

“Fine, because we don’t want you, anyway!” John spat viciously back, making Paul speechless.

The younger boy’s mouth fell open. Was the whole world against him today? Embarrassment got hold of him and he wished he could disappear into a dark hole. Had he really thought that John would let him join the band?

Paul chided himself in his mind. He still felt John’s look lingering on him, felt how he expected him to retort with another cheeky reply.

But instead, Paul turned to Ivan. “I’m sorry, but I need to do something at home. See you at school then.”

Ivan nodded and watched how Paul left the little group without saying goodbye to anyone else.

“Yeah, that’s right! Go back to your mother and cry your eyes out!” John hollered from behind, roaring with laughter.

Paul flinched; for a moment he seriously considered punching him for that cutting remark. But in the end, he stuck to avoiding trouble and yelled “Fuck you!” and left the church without looking back.


	2. Chapter 2

“Paul? Would you please come down and help Michael?” Jim asked loudly from the foot of the stairs.

Paul had locked himself in his room since yesterday afternoon. He had only come down to eat dinner and to get ready for the night. Yesterday’s encounter with that conceited fucker was still gnawing at him.

“Paul? _Please_ come and help Mike! They’ll arrive soon!” Jim said, this time louder than necessary.

With a deep sigh, Paul reluctantly lifted himself up from his bed and shuffled down the stairs. Mike smiled wearily at him when he entered the kitchen with a moody grunt.

“I don’t get why he can’t do it himself…” he muttered angrily as he carelessly put some biscuits on a dish.

Mike agreed with a gloomy hum and filled the hot water for the tea into the teapot.

“Maybe she’s got a pretty daughter.” Paul’s lame attempt at joking with gallows humour only caused a weak smile on his brother’s thin lips.

Together they brought the tea and the biscuits into the living room, where Jim had already prepared the rest. A nice little bouquet was standing in the middle of the table, along with a heart-shaped box of chocolates. Paul let out an incredulous snort as he watched his father adjusting his tie.

The two brothers sat down onto the sofa and stared into empty space, while their father paced restlessly back and forth. Paul had never seen him so nervous before; he was a real wreck.

_ Serves him right _ , Paul thought, trying to hide a complacent grin. But the sound of muffled voices from outside wiped away his sneer instantly. The doorbell rang and all three McCartneys jerked a little at the sound.

“You two stay here!” Jim ordered with a warning glare and hurried off to open the door.

Paul and Michael could hear how their father greeted a woman. Those wet smacking sounds coming from their direction were unmistakably kissing noises. Paul wished his father spared them those disgusting sounds. He looked out of the window and tried to see who might have come with his father’s wife, but he couldn’t spot anybody out there.

“Boys?” Jim finally called and Paul and his brother exchanged a meaningful glace, before they got up and went to join Jim.

“These are my kids, Paul and Michael.” Jim proudly said as his children approached him. He put one arm each around their shoulders and ruffled affectionately their hair.

“Good afternoon.” they said politely and shook the woman’s hand.

_ She doesn’t look too bad _ , Paul mused. _Quite nice, actually_.

“My name is Julia, in case you didn’t know already.” She glanced at Jim, who seemed to… blush?

“I’m sorry, dear.” he mumbled, dropping his head in shame. Neither Paul, nor Michael could believe their eyes and ears.

Julia just gave his arm a light squeeze and smiled at him. “And this,” she continued. “is my son, John.”

Paul cringed at the name. It wasn’t possible. _No._

Julia stepped aside and gave Paul a perfect view of the moody grimace of the boy from yesterday. Paul’s jaw dropped –  he was speechless and dumbfounded.

As John recognised him, he suddenly blurted out “Fatty?”

Pure shock was written blatantly all over his face and he quickly removed his thick framed glasses from his nose.  But Paul was too taken aback by John’s very appearance standing in front of him and by the fact that he had just insulted him _again_.  And this was actually the last straw.  Paul’s expression darkened instantly; he turned around on his heels, freed himself from his father’s tight grip around his shoulders and ran up the stairs, taking two at a time. He disappeared into his room and locked the door quickly.  His family and its new members, though, were only staring after him in utter confusion.

“Now what was that?” Jim asked and looked at Michael, who gave him only a shrug in return.

“How am I supposed to know?” he replied. He was just as clueless as his father. But he glanced at John, who seemed to know exactly why Paul ran away.

“I’m sorry about Paul’s behaviour,” Jim apologised to Julia. “He seems to have a hard time.”

“Oh I can absolutely understand that, Jim.” she replied with a warm smile, patting her husband’s arm. “And I’m sure Michael must get used to it as well, right?”

When she directed her gaze at the young boy, Michael only nodded his head and quickly buried his face in his father’s side. He was still too shy to talk to her.

Julia glanced at John, who couldn’t act more indifferent in this situation right now. She leaned forward towards Jim and whispered into his ear. “John’s not doing so well either. He might not show it now, but I know him. We ought to treat them gently.”

“Fine.” Jim sighed. “But let me show you two the house first, before we drink tea. Hopefully, Paul will have calmed down by then as well. Shall we?”

As Jim showed them around in his house, John felt as though he was caught in a nightmare from which he couldn’t escape. His mother, who had convinced him to move in with her only a few weeks before, had already been married to this man for quite some time.

Jim McCartney.

And they were going to live _here_ as well. John couldn’t stand that thought and dreaded every day that got him closer to this special date. In fact, they would move to Forthlin Road in only three days. And John hated that thought.

Now that he was with his mother again, he naturally didn’t want to share her with some random bloke she had married. He wasn’t ready yet to let her go again. The worst thing about this, though, was still that Jim was the fatty’s father. Destiny must have hated John tremendously, otherwise Jim would have at least been the father of some pretty bird. And not of two boys.

He sighed gravely. For a moment he seriously considered going back to Mimi. He was her precious, she surely would take him back with open arms. But then, she was always so strict. John had to be careful with his passion for dirty drawings and naughty little poems. He wasn’t allowed to smoke, nor to even _think_ of drinking. Although, at the moment, this option seemed a far better outlook than living together with these people.

Finally, Jim came to the most important part for John – the bedrooms. Each McCartney boy had his own room and the third one was Jim’s. Paul’s closed door didn’t allow any curious looks into his room; John would have loved to see how big the baby faced boy’s room was.  No matter what it took, John decided that he wanted his very own room. But Jim shattered his dream quickly enough.

“John, you’re going to stay with Michael. I think you both will soon get used to each other.” He smiled at him, but John felt as if this man had just stabbed him in the back.

Even the little boy next to John, Michael, looked at his father with a shocked expression, eyes wide and filled with worry. John smirked.

“Dad, can I share a room with Paul?” Michael asked pleadingly.

“No, you can’t.” Jim replied dismissively.

“Can’t Paul share a room with him then?”

John raised his eyebrows. He would rather die than sleep in the same room with him.

Jim glanced at Paul’s door, which seemed to open slightly, but it could have also been just an illusion. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Bloody hell…” Mike muttered under his breath, thankfully overheard by his father, who had already continued to show Julia the bathroom and didn’t like it when his children swore like sailors.

As Mike looked up, he noticed that John had been staring at Paul’s door with a thoughtful expression. But suddenly, John’s gaze wandered back to him and he gave Mike a devilish smile.  And then he quickly followed Julia and Jim into the bathroom and left Michael behind, who began to worry about what was yet to come.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hi Georgie!”

“Mornin’ Paul. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Last week of school…”

“Aye.”

“Anything grand planned?”

“No, not really. You?”

“You mean except for my new family members moving in? No.”

“Oh dear… What did you say who they were?”

“The Lennons.”

“Oh.”

“Ever heard about them?”

“I see John every now and then with his friends. He’s quite notorious…”

“Notorious, eh?”

“Is that a chuckle, Mr. McCartney?”

“No, no! Please do go on.”

“Well… I’ve heard he’s a German spy.”

“Oh George, come on. You can’t be serious.”

“By my granny’s life!”

“She died before you were even born, you daft git.”

“But she lived a good life… I’ve _heard_.”

“John’s not a spy.”

“He is! You’ll see.”

“And what is he supposed to find out?”

“If you pluck your eyebrows.”

“This, George, is not you. This is pure envy that comes out of your gob.”

*

The first evening after John and Julia had finally moved in was the worst. During dinner, Paul neither said a single word, nor did he look up from his dish. John didn't even notice that he was eating at all.  He himself, however, shoved his dinner into his mouth greedily, swallowing down his anger and frustration with each bite. It might have not worked too well since he let slip one or two snappy remarks about Jim and Julia's secret marriage – but at least he was well-fed now.

He tried to ignore Julia's glares that clearly told him to either be polite or to shut up completely, but he didn't really care, anyway.

Michael was the only one talking – except for their parents, perhaps – babbling about the adventures of the day. He apparently compensated his emotions in an entirely different way – talking until people's ears were bleeding. He even managed to crack a smile once or twice, whereas Paul just looked as pale as Death himself. _Slightly sick, actually_ , John mused, sipping on his glass of water. What must have he looked like then? John was convinced that he suffered more from the completely new family and living circumstances than the other two boys.

When they finished dinner, Paul and Michael immediately got up and took the empty dishes to the kitchen while John watched them from his seat, picking some last food remains from his teeth.

“John!” whispered Julia.

“What?” He turned around and was met by an angry glare.

“Come on, help the boys.”

“Why? They’re almost done.”

“ _John!_ ”

“All right, all right…”  He lifted his hands as if to defend himself and left the table with a deep, enervated sigh. Stupid _parents_. He should have stayed with Mimi.

“John…? Haven’t you forgotten about something?” Julia asked with a warning tone in her voice.

As he tuned around, he noticed that he wasn’t carrying anything.  “Oh sorry.” With slightly flushed cheeks, John carried the few remaining pots back into the kitchen.

The McCartney brothers were already busy with cleaning the cutlery. The moment John had entered the tiny room, the boys stopped whispering to each other and fell silent.  Having put the pots next to the sink, John awkwardly shifted his weight, not quite knowing what to do now.  Neither Mike, nor Paul seemed to have noticed him or showed any interest in him; they just carried on with their work, as if he wasn’t even there at all.  But just before John had to choose between asking he could help and walking away, Paul lifted his head and looked him straight in the eye.

“You can help Mike.” He nodded at one remaining tea towel and John reluctantly did as he was told.

As he dried the wet dishes and cutlery, it dawned on John that his and Paul’s roles were reversed now. It wasn’t Paul any longer who tried to be part of his band, but it was John now who had to integrate himself into his family.  And he feared that Paul wouldn’t let him, that he wouldn’t give him the slightest chance. Just like John had humiliated the younger boy in front of his friends, calling him a fat baby.

Paul might be a little bastard after all and could try to make him leave.  But John wouldn’t be John, if he wasn’t one clever fox. He'd show the McCartney brothers what superiority _really_ was.

*

That night, when Michael was asleep and breathed shallowly, John couldn’t sleep. He hated sharing a room, something which he had never done before.  Sure, Mike’s room was bigger than Paul’s, but with two people sleeping in here, space was just as rare as in Paul’s room.

John, who had been lying on his bed with his arms crossed behind the back of his head, turned in his bed around and around. On his chest, his back, left side, right side – nothing seemed cosy enough to make him fall asleep.  Silently, he lit his lamp and put on his glasses. Mike was still asleep, still dreaming.

Fine.

Quietly, John turned off his lamp and crept out of his bed. He tried to avoid any unnecessary noises, but when his left knee collided with the corner of the chair next to his bed, he had to bite his tongue in order not to cry out in agony.

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… _

The throbbing pain was almost unbearable, but somehow he managed to ignore it and bravely continued on his way.  As he was finally close enough to Michael’s bed, he kneeled down, holding his breath. He watched how the boy smacked his lips, accompanied by a hearty yawn.

It was perfect.

With imperceptibly trembling fingers, John reached forward and held Mike’s nose.  After a few seconds, he tossed his head to the left side and back to the right. John, cackling silently, jumped back into his bed and pretended to sleep when the other boy looked around in confusion. Michael scratched his head, mumbled something about a bad dream and went back to sleep.

John celebrated his little triumph in silence, trying hard to contain his laughter.  When he had calmed down, he repeated this procedure several times during the rest of the night.  Sleep was for the weak.

*

“Michael? Aren’t you feeling well?” Jim asked the next morning, when the children were sitting at the breakfast table.

“Didn’t sleep well,” Michael mumbled into his cup of tea, eyes half-closed and droopy.

In a weak attempt at covering up his grin, John quickly took a bite from his toast and pretended to chew thoughtfully on it.

Paul watched his brother with with mild worry. Then he suddenly turned his head and faced John. The usual softness in Paul's big eyes had vanished; John would have never thought that Paul was able to make him feel uncomfortable with one hard glare.

But then, John also had to admit to himself that he sort of basked in it. Paul had to understand that he couldn’t treat John like a peasant. Some very sick part of John's brain enjoyed the fact that Paul had figured out instantly that John was the cause for Michael's sleepiness. Animosity, John had to admit, looked good on that baby face.  However, animosity was definitely a mutual feeling and as long none of the McCartney boys would annoy John – meaning, _talking_ to him – he was quite content.

When the boys left the house and went to the bus station, Paul told Mike not to wait for him. The latter glanced worriedly at John, who in return pulled one of his grimaces, but Paul ignored John's antics and patted reassuringly his brother’s back.

The moment Mike was out of hearing range, Paul spun around and practically jumped into John’s way.

“What the hell did you do to him?!”

John, for once genuinely surprised, pulled an innocent face. “Moi?”

“Yes, _you_!” Paul pressed his finger against John’s chest. “He looked like crap this morning!”

“Only this particular morning…?”

Paul jabbed at John's chest with a huff.

“Hey!” John cried out, rubbing the hurt spot. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Then tell me why he almost fell asleep during breakfast!”

“Maybe he read naughty magazines.”

Paul’s expression turned even angrier, his cheeks glowing red. “Fuck off, John! If you don’t let Mike be, I’ll do something about it.”

He glared at John for another long moment before he turned away and hurried back to his brother’s side.

Even though the chubby-faced boy had warned him, John felt as if Fatty McCartney had challenged him. Because of this (probably harmless) threat, John decided that Paul had just signed his death sentence. Not literally, of course, but he would give Paul a hard time.


	4. Chapter 4

It had always been against Paul’s nature to cause trouble or to even threaten somebody. But when someone harmed the people he loved, he couldn’t stop himself, forgot all his good intentions and turned into a completely different person. Sure, John didn’t do any harm to Mike, or at least any harm that could be _proven_ , but Paul was convinced that John had just started with being an absolute pain in the neck.

It had started the morning when Michael’s face had almost hit the table just because he had been terribly tired, and it continued only a couple of days later.

Michael woke up during the night and went into the bathroom. Paul, who was still awake, reading a book underneath his blanket with the little torch in his hand, heard his brother’s footsteps and silently muttered curses.  He put away his book and quickly left his bedroom. He had to be careful as his father would definitely hear the creaking floor beneath his feet.  Before he went into the bathroom, though, Paul took his time and peeped into Michael’s room. John was asleep, snoring loudly and innocently into his pillow; one of his limp legs dangled from his bed.

Shaking his head with a sigh on his lips, Paul continued his way to the bathroom. As he opened the door, he was met by the sight of his bare-chested brother, who furiously scratched his back with a _hair brush_.  Despite himself, Paul started to cackle uncontrollably even hough he could imagine how his brother must have been feeling.  Mike, dropping the brush, spun around immediately at the sound of Paul’s voice. It was obvious that he was shocked to see his brother standing at the doorframe, laughing at him.

“That’s not funny!” Mike hissed and continued to scratch his neck.

“Oh it is!” Paul replied, wiping away a few tears of laughter. "Have you forgotten to take a shower?”

“Ha, ha!" His brother let out an irritated groan. “Someone put itching powder into my bed!”

“Really...?”

“Yes!”

Paul arched his eyebrows. As he glanced back at Mike's room, he could have sworn that he had just seen a dishevelled mop of fuzzy hair disappearing.

“Well, it wasn't me. That's all I can say.”

“Of course not!” Mike snapped. “It was that Lennon bastard! His head is full of crap, madness and even more crap!”

“Someone should lock him away in a madhouse."

Mike agreed with another exasperated grunt as he continued to scratch his back.

“You should take a shower,” Paul suggested and went back to his bedroom. Before he reached the door, however, he peeked one more time into Mike’s room and was able to recognise John’s features in the dim moonlight from outside – h e was smiling.

*

The next morning at the breakfast table, Paul glanced at John every few seconds, watching him attentively. No matter if the older boy reached for the sugar or moved his hands to scratch his chin, Paul kept his eyes on him for he feared that John might just put poison into his tea cup when no-one was watching. As he was much too concentrated on this task, he completely missed Julia’s question.

“Paul? Aren’t you hungry?”

Paul’s head spun around. “I beg your pardon?”

“What about paying more attention to what Julia says, Paul?” Jim chided his son, giving him a dismissive look from his newspaper.

Before he could even open his mouth to answer, Paul felt a hand being placed on his shoulder.

“It’s fine, Jim. I’m able to repeat my question.”

“If you don't mind,” Jim muttered into his newspaper.

Although Paul had tried his best to not like Julia, he began to acknowledge that she wasn’t that bad after all. She had stood up for him and that was always welcome.

“Are you hungry or not, dear?” she asked again with her hand still resting on his shoulder, giving him a light squeeze.

“Oh, I am!”

“Then why don’t you eat?” John suddenly intervened curtly, but not too snappish – after all, their parents were still present.

Paul didn’t reply. John’s resentment was all too blatantly visible for him. He simply took a bite from his jam butty and glared back at the Lennon boy. He knew that John would understand. And he did.

A wicked smile crept upon his thin lips as he glanced briefly at Mike. Paul’s poor brother hadn’t said a single word that morning and when the boys left for school, he was walking far ahead from Paul and John.

“You’re a real wanker,” Paul hissed at John who was whistling cheerfully.

“And you look like a girl, mate,” John retorted without missing a beat. “A fat one, if I may say.”

“Shut up, you ugly ogre. Stop calling me fat.”

“Only if Princess Wobbly Bits gives us a kiss.” With a maniacal grin, John batted his eyelashes at Paul, whose face scrunched up in disgust.

“You’re one sick fuck.”

“And you’re daddy’s little bootlicker.”

“Which is better than being a jealous wanker.”

“Says the girl who lives like a hermit in her room and can’t lend me anything.”

“Because I would never get it back!” Paul’s face went red with anger. “And I don’t trust you.”

“I wouldn’t trust me either,” John grinned.

There was that particular mischievous glimmer in his eyes again. Despite the fact that anybody else would have been scared by his strange antics, Paul found himself once again drawn to that exciting feeling to challenge John, to play with fire. He knew all too well that he might burn himself. But then – when did he ever risk something?

“You’re mad,” he muttered after a while, more to himself than to John, but the latter had heard what he had said quietly under his breath.

“Only as mad as a hatter, son.”

Paul suddenly looked up to John. “You like Alice?” he blurted out before his brain could shut him up.

John stopped walking next to him. “What?”

“Nothing…” Paul continued to walk and hoped that John hadn’t seen the faint blush of pure embarrassment spreading across his cheeks.

“You mean _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_?” John asked as he caught up with Paul.

“Yeah…”

“It’s my favourite book, actually.”

“Really?”

“Why would I lie to you?”

Paul dared to look at John again and was met by an honest smile. So that was what it looked like when he wasn’t lying. And it looked… Well… Good.

“Because you like to torture innocent children?” The corners of Paul’s mouth twitched slightly at the memory of what had happened to his brother the night before.

“Me?” John gave him an innocent look, pouting his lips.

“Oh God, would you please stop that?” Paul suddenly pushed John away from him and ran to his just arriving school bus.

He prayed that John hadn’t noticed his involuntary grin as he dashed away. He couldn't believe it when something akin to sympathy spread in his chest, and if he was honest with himself, he didn't like it one bit. John was mad. John's character was questionable. John had tortured poor Mike the night before. John had spiked Paul's interest.

* 

During school, Paul had problems concentrating on any of the given tasks. All he could think of were his holidays and John; how nice he could actually be if only he really wanted to. It seemed as if he wasn’t a _complete_ prick.  When school was finally over – the very last day – Paul noticed that he was walking faster to the bus station than usual. He got excited at the thought that he would be home soon, that he would see him…

No. Those were absolutely stupid thoughts which he forbade himself to think. Looking forward to seeing that Lennon? Never.

On his bus ride home, his left leg was constantly moving up and down; he chewed on his thumb, while his thoughts whirled around in his head like leaves on a windy day. He wished that he wasn’t so eager to be back at home. Like a stupid bird, Jesus. Get a hold of yourself.

When he finally arrived at the bus station after what seemed like half an eternity, Paul almost, _almost_ ran home. He could barely contain himself.  Back at Forthlin Road, he opened the door with slightly trembling fingers, and shouted "I'm back!" as he entered the house.

He listened attentively for any sounds, but alas, there was no reply. No-one was at home, in fact. His father and Julia were still at work and Michael had gone off to visit a friend.

John, though, must have been somewhere else, since he was always the first one to be at home.

With a disappointed sigh, Paul went upstairs and slumped down onto his bed. There was nothing left for him to do – no homework, nothing to tidy up and no-one to talk to. But instead of lying around like a lazy cat on a sunny day, he grabbed his Ornithology book, his binoculars and went outside to sit somewhere in the fields and to enjoy the beginning of his summer holidays.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun had already begun to settle down when Paul decided that the time had come to go back home. It had been a nice and calm afternoon – one of those days when he could turn off his mind and could just enjoy nature’s beauty… And forget everything else.  But the moment Paul touched the doorknob of his home’s front door, he wasn’t able to refrain himself from feeling excited, yet nervous.  Maybe he and John could talk a bit more about _Alice_. Perhaps John loved the Cheshire Cat and maybe he even disliked the mock turtle with its whiny nature as much as Paul did. He breathed in and out, fixed his rumpled clothes a bit, hoping that would make him look more decent and ran his fingers a few times through his hair. He would never understand why the mere thought of John turned him into a pitiful, self-conscious creature. Perhaps the age difference between them was to blame.

When he had finally calmed down a bit and stepped into the house, Paul was immediately greeted by an angrily yelling Michael who threw a tantrum about John and that he didn’t want to share a room with that 'sick bastard' under any circumstances anymore.

Paul glanced at said bastard who was sitting silently in the living room, feigning innocence.

“Watch your language, Michael!” Jim warned his son just as angrily.

The only difference between these two was that Jim actually sounded dangerous – a very rare occasion since he was usually a self-possessed man.

In the meantime, Paul sat down on the couch next to John but not too close of course. The other boy watched him with vague interest which vanished as soon as Mike started to throw his hands into the air whilst his face turned almost crimson red from his fit of sheer anger.

“Then let Paul share a room with him for Heaven’s sake!” he finally shouted in frustration after a few more minutes of quarrelling with his father.

Paul’s eyes darted immediately to John, meeting his gaze. Should he be happy about Mike’s sudden outburst of fantastic ideas or rather concerned? John’s face didn’t give anything away, not the slightest hint of what he was thinking. _Maybe_ Paul should _really_ be worried.

But then, he mused, he wanted to play with fire. Wasn’t it exactly that kind of thrill he longed for…?

Jim let out a very frustrated, very _exasperated_ sigh.

“Paul?” He turned to his older son. The look he gave him was pleading, enervated.

Paul shrugged nonchalantly. “Okay.”

He quickly cast a glance at John whose lips were pressed into a thin line. He didn't hide that he wasn’t pleased with the new living arrangements. His fists were clenched, his knuckles turned white.

Oh dear.

_ Do you still want to play with fire…? _

*

While Paul was in the bathroom and prepared himself for the night – his first night in his brother’s room – there was a small voice in the back of his head. It kept on asking him, _nagging_ him, “What are you doing? Why did you agree?”

_ For Mike _ , Paul thought as he spit into the sink and cleaned his mouth with a towel.

_ Really? _

“Of course,” he muttered to himself and threw his towel into a corner. He knew he was worrying too much about what might happen. His excitement about the new sleeping circumstances had subsided the moment he had seen John’s furious grimace.  But maybe it was just Paul’s slightly paranoid mind. John could indeed be a nice person, a real _darling_ , just like Paul had experienced it earlier that day. John wouldn’t do him any harm. No.

“The bathroom’s free now.” Paul said as he entered Michael’s room, where John was sitting on his bed, scribbling sketches on a notepad. He didn’t reply, but looked up and glared at Paul.

The latter suppressed a cringe as he met John’s piercing gaze and quietly walked over to his wardrobe. He took out new pyjamas and was about to undress himself as he was suddenly reminded of John’s presence. He stopped abruptly and glanced over his shoulder.

John was still sitting on his bed and watched him attentively through his Buddy Holly glasses.

“You don’t want to brush your teeth, eh?” Paul asked suspiciously as he turned around slowly.

John let out a small huff and took off his glasses. “I already did. And I’ve never seen a fat baby boy naked before. Please, do go on.”

Paul grimaced, cheeks flushed and he felt anger boiling up inside him. He quickly walked to his bed, grabbed his pillow and threw it at John who didn’t duck his head quickly enough.

“Hey!” he exclaimed and grabbed the pillow. With one swift movement he threw it right back at Paul who caught it.

In a sudden rush of rage and the hunger to kill someone, Paul jumped at John and hit him with his pillow repeatedly, fighting like a lion against the other’s attempts at snatching the cushion away from him. But then, John suddenly stopped and lunged forward at Paul’s ribs instead and started assaulting him with well-placed tickles.

Paul let out a surprised but muffled yelp and instantly tried to slap those nasty, nimble fingers of John’s away. All his attempts, though, were in vain as his strength faded away far too quickly.

“Stop it!” he wheezed, tears of laughter and pain already stinging in his eyes.

“Why should I?” John asked and flipped Paul over so that it was now the younger boy lying on his back like a helpless tortoise. John kept on tickling and poking Paul’s weak and trembling body while he cackled like a loon.

Paul tried to kick John, but his foot was immediately grabbed and tickled, too.

“I said _stop it_ , you nutter!” he shrieked, but John wouldn’t listen. Paul saw only one way to free himself from John’s hands, and that was to crush (or at least hurt) his sides with his thighs.

The moment John made the mistake of moving between Paul's legs, he was trapped. Paul pressed his thighs together as much as he could, making the other gasp for air in a sudden rush of breathlessness.

“Fucker…!” was all John could hiss.

He grabbed Paul’s thighs and tried to pull them apart but the latter was stronger than John had him expected to be. He tried to wriggle himself free from Paul’s legs, but Paul’s determination not to let him get away with his antics was unyielding.

The more he moved, though, the more trouble Paul had with concentrating. But how could he possibly expect to keep a clear mind when those movements of John’s body caused the most delicious friction he had ever felt? His eyelids felt heavy, his mouth dropped open, his breathing hitched slightly. Paul wondered if John was doing this on full purpose – he probably knew very well what he was doing to him. It wasn’t until Paul could feel the blood rush to his abdomen that he suddenly began to feel awkward. His mind and his body were in a conflict; his brain told him to shove John away, his body, however, disobeyed him completely and his legs pressed John’s crotch a little bit closer to his own. A tiny bit more friction, that’s all what Paul wanted, more friction, more bliss, more release…

“John…” he panted, forcing his eyes to stay open.

“Let me go, Paul!” John wailed, still writhing between Paul’s legs. “I’ll scream rape, if you don’t let me!”

“John…” Paul repeated as if he hadn’t heard him. “You need to be quiet, please.”

A very awkward cough fulfilled Paul’s wish. John and Paul’s heads spun around in unison and what they saw, was Michael standing in his pyjamas at the door – his expression mirrored perfectly John and Paul’s: pure horror.

“Goodnight…” he croaked and turned around quickly on his heels, not giving Paul the slightest chance to explain what had just happened. But if he was really honest with himself… he didn’t know either.  He only looked up to John who was still between his legs, still dumbfounded.

“You… You stupid arsehole!” Paul’s knee collided with John’s crotch, which caused the latter to howl at the pain.

“Are you out of your bloody mind?!” he hissed at Paul, as he backed off quickly, cupping his bits.

“That’s what I should ask you!” Paul retorted just as angrily. “Are you getting off on doing this?!”

“What?  _No!_ ”

“Then why did you –” Paul paused and got up quickly from the bed to close the door. “Then why did you hump me like a dog in heat?” he continued to ask; this time it was just a furious whisper.

“Hump you?” John repeated with disbelief in his voice. “I didn't – Why would I hump you? You’re not my kind of girl, sorry!”

But when Paul raised his fist, John winced slightly. “Listen, I didn’t have any creepy intentions. I only wanted to free myself from your bleedin’ legs, that’s all. You pressed my ribs as if they were a bloody sponge, so get off your high horse.”

Paul gave him a sceptical look but his features softened slightly when he watched John lift up his shirt to prove that he wasn’t lying.  Those red marks were unmistakably caused by Paul’s legs. Who would have thought that he could bring up so much strength?

“I’m sorry…” Paul reluctantly apologised but John shook his head.

“Nah, it’s alright. I would’ve never thought that you possess more than a baby face and fat. And besides, always remember son: A pillow fight is always just fun and games until someone gets an erection. I think I might have felt some vibes coming from you when you jumped my poor bones.” He glanced meaningfully down at Paul’s trousers which had Paul going pink instantly.

“Oh, fuck off!” he muttered, and gave John one last hearty punch against his arm, before he quickly crawled back into his bed. “And don’t try any more funny things with me!”

“Says you! But as for me, I won’t do anything.” John grinned almost too nicely – and just as crazily as the Cheshire Cat.

*

Paul couldn’t quite put his finger on why he was so exhausted, but he was certain about one thing – he had never been this tired in his life before.  When he looked over to John’s bed, he saw something very dishevelled and auburn-haired peeking out from under the covers. And it was snoring silently, softly.

Paul shook his head in a weak attempt at trying to chase off images of the dream he had had last night. He didn’t even dare to think of it, let alone saying it out loud. The dream had been too disturbing for the young boy and mentioning this fantasy would make it too real.

Even though it was only half-past eight in the morning, and weekend as well, Paul decided to get up and to begin the day with less uncomfortable thoughts. He shuffled into the bathroom, yawned loudly as he grabbed his toothbrush and let out a silent cry of utter panic the moment he saw himself in the mirror.


	6. Chapter 6

“Good morning, princess!” John greeted Paul when he entered their bedroom. In return, he glared daggers at John with red cheeks.

“You!” he shouted as he suddenly lunged for John’s throat. He knocked him over, straddled his hips and tried to throttle him with his trembling hands. “You drew a cock on my cheek! Are you out of your bleedin’ mind?!”

John, who had by now trouble with breathing, began to let out a choked laughter. However, he only sounded as though he was about to puke.

“And,” Paul continued, not minding the weird sounds coming from his victim, “you used a bloody marker, didn’t you? _Didn’t you_?!”

“Paul... _Let me_...!” John managed to choke out as he grabbed Paul’s hands.

Fortunately, Paul did loosen his grip but he still kept John in place; he only allowed him to breathe properly again. Just when John was sure that he had gained enough strength back, he took advantage of Paul’s carelessness and pushed him away, wriggled himself free from his body.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he wheezed as he touched his throat. “I thought it was funny.”

“ _Funny_?” Paul shot back, pointing at his violated cheek. “You think this is funny?”

“Well, now you’re literally a true dickhead and –”

Before John could even finish his with his smart retort, Paul picked up a shoe by his wardrobe and threw it at John before he stormed out of the room, still fuming.

*

Maybe, _maybe_ John had gone a little bit too far with that prank. But what else should he have done? Paul’s innocent face had been just too tempting, too inviting. And John had been surprised how well he could draw on Paul’s face – material-wise and sleep-wise.  Maybe, the marker might have been a bad idea as well. John had to admit that a cock on Paul’s face had gone too far. Especially those extremely hairy balls that looked tremendously disgusting, even to his own cruel nature. A cunt on that McCartney’s face, though, wouldn’t really have changed anything, John mused.

He quickly put on new clothes and left the room, already hearing Paul’s frustrated curses. He only peeked into the room as he didn’t want to be nearly killed once again.  Paul was sitting on the bathtub’s edge, Julia was kneeling down in front of him and took care of his face, trying to clean his cheek with turpentine.

It stank and Paul wasn’t looking too happy when Julia suddenly grabbed his chin. "Paul, you’ve got to hold still."

“It smells!” he complained, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

Julia sighed and rubbed her eyes with her turpentine-free hand. “Look, if you want me to help you, you’ve got to do what I ask of you.”

“You’re not my mother.”

Paul’s face was red with anger, his nostrils quivered.  An awkward moment of silence followed this very random and very cutting remark. Julia didn’t say anything; she only kept staring at Paul, dumbfounded.

John bit his lip. He could practically hear the seconds ticking away...

Paul looked uneasy, uncomfortable even, when he stood up.

“I’m sorry... Really,” he mumbled, almost inaudible.

Julia nodded; her expression surely didn’t give anything away as to how she might have been feeling that moment.

Since Paul was about to leave the room, John, who was still standing behind the door, began to panic. It was too late for him to run back into his room, especially because his brain had reacted too slowly. When Paul opened the door, his expression went from sheer surprise to shock and finally got stuck at a vicious glare. He shoved himself past John, bumping purposefully against the elder’s shoulder.

And John always used to think that _he_ was aggressive. (Although not in that passive-aggressive manner.)

He kept watching Paul until he had disappeared into their room and slammed the door shut. His glance shot back to Julia when she let out a deep sigh. She looked forlorn, hurt. Apparently, she couldn’t deal with the situation as well as she would have liked to. Just like John.  Feeling slightly awkward, John nervously ran a hand through his messy hair. He went to his mother and embraced her in a comforting hug.

“You’ve still got me. Don’t listen to that idiot,” he whispered into her red hair and planted a light kiss on top of her head.

Julia nodded and leaned her forehead against his chest, letting out a deep sigh.

 *

“Paul, don’t eat too many sweets. They’ll damage your teeth.”

“But _Dad_! I haven’t had any chocolate for _weeks_ now.”

“You just had some yesterday,” Mike interfered with a frown.

Jim puffed his cheeks and quickly snatched the sweets box away from his oldest son’s possessive grip. “No sweets for you anymore for the rest of the day!”

Paul rested his head on his hands, pouting and glaring daggers at his father.

“You seem to like chocolate, don’t you?” John suddenly asked with a healthy amount of curiosity - he had been watching the scene in silence.

A few days had passed since the last time he had played a trick on Paul, but said boy still refused to talk to him. When one of his friends had come over one day - George his name was - Paul had told him ‘not to take notice of John’ because he wasn’t ‘worth it’. George had given him a rather frightened look. God knows what horrible things Paul had told him about John.

“ _Like_?” Mike asked with a cheeky smirk, glancing at his brother. “He’s addicted.”

“’s not true!” Paul replied angrily, and yet he glanced longingly at the box in Jim’s hands.

“You are!”

“Not!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Tell that your belly, _Fatty_.”

As John watched the banter between the two brothers going on, not being able to hide his amusement, an idea occurred to him of how he could apologise to Paul without really saying _I’m sorry_.

*

Paul was running hectically through every room of the house when John came back from a band rehearsal with his friends.  He put his guitar down right in front of the living room’s door and Paul would have almost tripped over it, if he hadn’t seen it in time.

“Be careful, stupid git!” he shouted as he ran into the kitchen.

“Watch out, you blind prick!” John yelled back.

For someone, who wasn’t living in this household, the casual tone of their insults would have been one of the most puzzling things ever. But in fact, those rude remarks had become a bad habit of both of them – a guilty pleasure, almost. It was their private little game and neither of them would have ever voluntarily admitted that they secretly enjoyed it. At first, they had wanted to hurt the other’s feelings, one insult was more impolite and horrible than the other. But very soon both boys got used to the harsh tone and so one could by now compare the insults to a casual 'Hello, how are you feeling today, old chap?'

John and Paul, however, were more than careful when it came to throwing profanities at each other. Whenever their parents or Michael were around, they just kept glaring at each other, like two cats on either sides of the street.

John could hear how Paul opened and closed a couple of doors quickly, muttering “Shit, shit, shit!” to himself in his utter agitation. John followed him into the little kitchen and watched him with curiosity.

“What are you doing?” he asked and leaned against the doorpost.

“I’m looking for…” Paul trailed off as he went from cupboard to cupboard.

“What?”

“Julia’s purse. She asked me to buy some stuff.”

John cringed at the word _purse_. He began biting his fingernail and looked down at his shoe. “I think I might have an idea where it could be...”

Paul hadn’t noticed that he had disappeared until he came back a few minutes later, waving the little brown leather purse in front of Paul’s face. When the latter spotted it, he immediately tried to snatch it away from John.

“Ah-ah!” John chided him, “I won’t give it to you.”

“Why?”

“Who knows what you would do with it? Maybe you lied to me and you’ve actually planned to get some ciggies and booze.”

“You mean, like you did?” Paul retorted.

John sneered at him and moved swiftly out of Paul’s way whenever the younger tried to get his hands on the purse.

“Where’s Julia, anyway?”

“Working. Something you’ve probably never heard of before,” Paul grumbled. He was beginning to consider kicking John’s crotch in order to get what he wanted. “And I’m supposed to buy the things on the list she gave me before she comes home. Which is in about an hour. So would you be so kind and stop being such a daft prick and help me?”

John took his time with pondering over this plea – and especially to Paul it seemed to take way too long for John to decide whether or not he should help him. But in the end, John decided that the constant bickering was rather tiresome, exhausting and it could cause some seriously disturbing dreams... And so he gave in.

“All right. Get that bloody list and off we go.”

And even though Paul said “Thank you!” with the most innocent and angelic smile he could come up with, he couldn’t refrain himself from giving John’s ribs a good, painful dig.

*

“So where’s the shop we’re going to?” John whined after twenty minutes of walking.

“We’re almost there.” Paul replied. “It’s just around the corner.”

John muttered a few more curses at his own stupidity. Why, for God’s sake, had he agreed on helping Paul? Knowing his mother, she probably asked Paul to buy a handful of bricks or other heavy shite that would snap his back into two halves.

“Here it is,” Paul finally said and walked into the little grocery store.

“And what do we need to buy?” John asked as he followed Paul.

“Good afternoon!” Paul greeted the woman behind the counter, before he directed his attention back to John.

“She gave me a list, as I’ve already told you before,” he mumbled while he fumbled in his pocket for the piece of paper.

John stood directly behind Paul and looked over his shoulder at the note in Paul’s hands. He narrowed his eyes but the letters were too blurry for him to recognise. “Fuck, I can’t read it. I forgot my glasses at home.”

Paul turned his head slightly to glance at John, smiling amusedly. “Shall I read it out for you, you blind mole?”

“That would be too nice of you, my princess.” John retorted, annoyed.

Together they walked around the shop and put everything they needed into a basket which Paul had brought from home.

“You look like a right housewife, son,” John cackled while he and Paul strode along another corridor.

“Shut up,” Paul grumbled and bumped his shoulder against John’s. The older boy shoved back, still laughing.

They passed the candy filled shelves and Paul took his time to look at his favourite sweets and chocolate bars until he decided it was best to walk away quickly. He bit down on his lip as he passed the shelves, praying that he wouldn’t give in to the sweet temptation.

“You don’t want any of that?” John asked him with his eyebrows arched.

“Well… No,” Paul sighed, “Dad doesn’t want me to eat too much of that stuff. He practically forbids me from everything that’s fun.” Another grave sigh followed.

“Hmm…” was John’s deep, meaningful reply as he watched how Paul glanced one more time longingly at the candies, then turned around on his heels and went to the cash desk to pay for their shopping.

*

“ _Pauuul_ , could you please take the potatoes? I’m already carrying most of the stuff!”

“That’s not true and you know it!”

“I’ll pay you!”

“I’m not your servant, John,” Paul rolled his eyes at John, “And how would you pay me, anyway? With pebbles and dirty drawings?”

“Well, I _could_ draw something for you, sure,” John mused, frowning, “but I actually wanted to share this with you –”  He reached behind his back and lifted his shirt lightly. Paul raised his eyebrows in confusion, but as soon as he saw what John pulled out of his waistband, his lips formed a silent _Oh_.

“When… How did you…?”

“I got it from that shop, you know.” He glanced meaningfully at Paul, before he looked back at the bar.

“So, you…?” Paul formed _stole_ silently with his plump lips.

John nodded, but shrugged nonchalantly. He’d done it a million times before.

“Either you want some of it or you shut up about it.”

Paul pondered over these two options. It looked delicious, indeed. And he hadn’t had any chocolate for almost an entire week now… But it was wrong, wasn’t it?  His mouth began to water like a bloody waterfall as he watched how John began to unpack the bar. A wave of that delicious smell hit Paul’s nose… And it smelled _so_ good…

“Uhm, John?” Paul asked, hesitant, while he twisted his foot in the dust. He felt really stupid at this very moment, but waited nevertheless for John to look up. When his eyes met Paul’s, the latter began to stutter as he continued speaking. “May… May I also... You know... Could I… er… get a piece of it?”

To Paul’s surprise, John gave him again that warm, genuine smile and broke the bar into two halves.  “Here you are.”

As they both walked home in silence, John watched how Paul ate his chocolate, obviously enjoying, _relishing_ it very much. Whenever Paul glanced back at him with a cheesy grin, with the corners of his mouth covered in chocolate, John quickly averted his gaze. He smiled to himself and Paul wondered what the reason for his silent amusement might have been. What he didn’t know, though, was that John had stolen the bar just because of him.


	7. Chapter 7

“Hi Paul!”

“’ello Georgie,” Paul chirped as he stepped aside. His friend had come over to practise the guitar with him, and also exchange news about classmates and friends whom they hadn’t seen for weeks now due to their summer holidays.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Paul smiled at George and took his guitar.

John, who had been sitting in the living room, sneaked to the door and eyed them attentively.

“Hello,” he said as they passed him. Paul gave him a tentative smile, George cringed visibly. He looked like a scared deer but quickly composed himself nevertheless, nodding curtly at John, before he disappeared with Paul upstairs.

John shook his head, frowning. “ _Tsk_.”

Why was Paul friends with someone who was even more of a baby than the chubby-cheeked boy with these doe-eyes and those seemingly very soft and lush li-   


And what the hell was John thinking, anyway?

*

“Now tell me everything,” George said with a curious glimmer in his eyes. He folded his gangly legs and after a few awkward attempts, he found a comfortable cross-legged position. “Has anything… you know, _funny_ happened?”

Paul bit his lower lip and glanced at the closed door.

“Well…,” he began, whispering, “He… He humped me. _Accidentally_.”

George’s mouth fell open.

“And yesterday… Er, he gave me chocolate…”

George’s eyes widened, though Paul wasn’t sure if it was disgust, shock or just pure amusement. Could have been all of it.  
  
“He _humped_ you? Really?” George repeated loudly, cackling uncontrollably.

“ _Sh!_ ” Paul jumped up and covered his friend’s mouth with his hand. “Don’t ever tell _anyone_ , okay?”

George was still laughing; his whole body had already begun to tremble.

“George, I _mean_ it! If you tell anyone, John will kill us both!”

“All right, fine…” George wheezed, holding his aching ribs, “Did anyone see you?”

Paul’s expression darkened and his lips formed a thin line. “Mike was standing at the door and saw everything.”

“How on earth did this happen? Did you ask him to do it?” George had serious trouble with hiding his grin.

“God, no!” Paul exclaimed, arms flailing wildly in frustration, “We had a little fight and somehow he got stuck between my legs ad I must’ve probably hurt him so–“

“Oh wait a second, Paul,” George was suddenly all serious; furrowed brows, “I still wonder how the hell he could get between your legs. I mean, were you _desperate_ or something? You could’ve also just humped your pillow instead of – ”

“ _We did not hump each other_!”

Paul's face had gone beet red by noq which caused George to break out in roaring laughter again.

“Oh fuck!” he cursed, wiping away the tears from the corners of his eyes.

“It’s not funny, you git,” Paul whined, exasperated and clueless of how he could stop his friend.

“Would anybody here be so kind and tell me what the reason for this merry mood is? Come on, share your dirty little secrets.”

_ John. _

With a certain amount of horror, both George and Paul’s heads jerked up and they faced the boy standing at the door – and he didn’t look amused at all.

“John!” If this situation hadn't been so utterly embarrassing for Paul, the light tilt in his voice would have been almost comical.  “Never heard about knocking before entering a room?”

“I don’t see why as I live here as well, dearest Paul,” John replied coolly as he walked towards Paul’s bed.

George watched them with big eyes, desperately trying to stifle the giggle bubbling up inside of him as John suddenly slumped down next to Paul and put an arm in an exaggeratedly possessive fashion around his shoulders.

“Why so nervous?” John asked Paul with a leer, “It’s only me.”

“That’s why I’m worried,” the latter retorted with a brief glance at George who looked as if he was about to explode at any second. “George!” Paul hissed, while he tried to wriggle himself free from John.

“Ladies, I won’t do any nasty things to you, so what’s the matter?”  Although John was talking to both of them, he only looked at Paul intently.

And there – once again – there was this little jolt of excitement in Paul’s stomach, that adrenaline kick which caused his heart to beat at an impossible rate and filled his head with the most extraordinary thoughts. He would have almost forgotten about George, if his friend hadn’t fallen from the bed because he hadn’t been able to control his fit of laughter anymore.

“Are you all right?” Paul asked immediately and quickly freed himself from John’s arm to kneel down next to his younger friend.

Apparently, he had hit his head on a corner of Paul’s bedside table – otherwise, he wouldn’t have been yelling curses at it, rubbing his head.

John snickered quietly. He enjoyed playing this cat-and-mouse game with Paul more than he probably should. He loved seeing his shocked expression and flustered cheeks whenever he made an inappropriate remark or invaded his personal space. He reminded John of those fragile 18th century maids you only read about in dusty Jane Austen novels. And when his little friends hurt themselves, too – well then, that was the icing on the cake of sick pleasure.

Paul was still crouched next to George which took (in John’s opinion) longer than necessary. A relieved sigh escaped his lips, though, when George picked up his guitar after he had managed to stand up, clumsy and unstable.

“I think I’d better go home now. My head’s hurting too much,” he muttered.

“We’ve got medicine here, Georgie,” Paul offered, hoping that George wouldn’t leave him now – with _John_.

“I’m really sorry, but I’d rather let my mum have a look at it. Never mind.”

Both Paul and John followed George downstairs to the entrance.  In the middle of walking out of the door, George stopped abruptly and turned around to Paul, whispering into his ear “Have fun, you two.” With a cheeky wink, he quickly left an utterly baffled Paul behind. And when he started to giggle again as he walked down the street, Paul deduced that he obviously must have started to feel better again.

The urge to throw a heavy rock at George's head was too tempting at that very moment.

Muttering silent curses to himself, he turned around and bumped right into John who was standing directly behind him. He might have not been much taller than him, but Paul still had to look up to meet his eye.  It seemed as if absolutely nothing could wipe away that stupid grin on his thin lips.

“What?” Paul asked, harsher than intended.

“Nothing,” John replied with a shrug, grinning sheepishly as he followed Paul back into their room. He watched how the younger boy picked up his guitar and plucked a few strings listlessly.

John felt awkward standing there in the middle of the room with nothing left to do. He knelt down in front his bed and reached forward, trying to grab something from underneath.  Paul watched him attentively – not trying to stare at certain body parts for too long – and was surprised when John pulled out a guitar case.

“I thought you left your guitar at your aunt’s.”

John gave him a pointed look. “No, but I practise when no-one’s watching.”

He winked at Paul before he sat down next to him on his bed.  The latter raised his eyebrows as he met John’s expectant gaze.

“Look, I won’t nag you about what you and your little friend were talking about… But I want you to teach me how to play properly.”

“Properly?” Paul repeated. “Why would I do that? I don’t want to teach a gorilla how to play an instrument without violating it.”

John ignored Paul’s comment, only kept smiling at him.

“Because I noticed how you stare at this girl in the bus every time you see her.” He looked at Paul knowingly, waggling his eyebrows.

Paul let out a weak noise of disagreement. “Bollocks. I don’t look at anyone. Let alone _fancy_ someone special.”

“Well, what’s her name?”

“Val.”

“And how old is she?”

“Only a couple of weeks older than me.”

“What’s the colour of her eyes?”

“They’re blue like the ocean on a sunny day.”

John leaned back against the wall, folding his arms behind his head and grinning his smug _I-rest-my-case_ grin.

“Only someone with a heavy crush could come up with such sappy crap like that.”

“Do you reckon it’s that bad?” Paul asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm… However, his insecurities were betraying him as well and made him look around nervously.

John closed his eyes for a moment, pretending to look somewhat contemplative.

“Oh, absolutely,” he replied eventually and enjoyed every second during which Paul’s curious stare lingered on him. “How many girls have you had yet…?”

The unexpected question made Paul swallow hard. He looked down at his hands, hiding away that faint blush that crept upon his cheeks. “None,” he croaked eventually, his throat dry and voice weak.

John’s eyes flew open and he sat up straight. “ _What_?”

Paul’s cheeks had turned fully red by now. “I’ve never had a girlfriend.”

“Not even shagged any…?” John asked incredulously.

The younger boy shook his head, avoiding any eye-contact with John. And when the latter broke out into roaring laughter, Paul wished he could just disappear into a dark hole and wallow in self-pity.

“Oh my poor, _poor_ Macca,” John eventually cooed after he had composed himself, “I think it’s my duty to get you laid. You need a good shag, I can see that.”

“Ha, ha!” Paul scoffed, feeling slightly offended. “As if you could help me…”

“I’ve had plenty of girls. And none of them has ever complained about my fucking techniques.” John leaned against Paul and put an arm around his shoulders. “I could teach you how to charm your way into their knickers, son. It’s quite easy once you get to talk to them.”

John might have said something but Paul wasn’t really listening anymore. He was too preoccupied with paying too much attention to the weight resting upon his shoulders, the sheer physical closeness to John’s body, to his _face_.

“I could teach you how to make the girls go weak for you.”

With a small smile, John gently drew Paul closer into his embrace, not breaking the eye-contact. He brought his face closer to Paul’s until his ragged, warm breath grazed Paul's skin. John tilted his head slightly as he softly placed a hand on Paul’s cheek, stroking it slowly with his thumb.

“What are you doing…?” Paul whispered as he felt John’s knee nudging his gently, feeling how the hand resting on his biceps began to trace light patterns along his sensitive skin.

And then the moment was over.

John suddenly moved away from Paul until the distance between them had reached an acceptable level.

“This,” John explained, “was just a demonstration of how I do it.”

The unabashed amusement over Paul’s flustered state was all too visible on John’s face; he was obviously more than pleased to see that he had that effect on this little virgin boy. As Paul involuntarily had got to know, teasing him had definitely become one of John’s most favourite occupations over the last few weeks.  Paul, however, tried to swallow down that huge lump in his throat that didn’t allow him to say anything without embarrassing himself completely. After a few seconds had passed and he thought he could trust his voice, he managed to put on his fake charming smile.

“Fine then,” he said, “I’ll teach you and you’ll help me to get Val.”

He held out his hand to John, now staring back just as challengingly as John had done before.

“Deal.”

Shaking their hands, their pact was made.

“But how do we begin?” Paul asked with a frown.

“First of all, I need to know how much you know about her and if you’ve already talked to her.”

“She’s got a younger sister. I know that they both go to the city every Saturday, because I see them often enough sitting on the bus.”

“Hm…” John’s expression turned serious, all business-like. “But have you talked to her yet…?”

“Only a couple of times… Just hello and goodbye,” Paul replied disappointedly, pouting.

“I see… Next time, I’ll come with you and then I’ll _make_ you talk to her, all right?”

Paul let out a weak chuckle. “Thank you. Your encouraging ways might just have a negative effect on me. Corrupting my innocent mind and such.”

John hit Paul’s shoulder lightly. “Either you want me to help you, son, or you simply keep on having a relationship with your hand!”

“Okay, fine,” Paul put his hands up in defence, “I’m glad that I have you by my side. Makes things easier for me, I suppose.”

When John gave him a for once honest smile, warmth spread in Paul's chest. It was worrying how pleasant it felt.

“You’re welcome. But you know what that means, don’t you?”

“No…?”

“We’ve got to take the bus every bloody Saturday. You won’t get another chance to talk to her due to our lovely holidays.”

“I know,” Paul replied, “And I don’t mind.”

Nudging John’s shoulder with his, he felt strangely light-headed and excited about what was yet to come.


	8. Chapter 8

“Well then, son! This was just another chance of thousands that you’ve let slip _again_!” John whacked Paul’s head with an enervated grunt, watching Val’s dark blonde hair disappearing through the door. “Seriously, Paul, you won’t get anywhere near her knickers if you don’t open your bloody gob and _talk_ to her.”

“I’ve tried my best, okay?” the younger boy hissed in frustration.

“If you don’t want to go out with her, I’ll get her,” John smirked, “She seemed to like me.”

Paul’s eyes grew wide in shock.  “Why would she fancy you of all people?”

John looked at him from over his glasses, one eyebrow raised.  “Because I talked to her. She already knows more about me from only five encounters than about you from the last… What was it? Two _years_?”

Paul puffed out his cheeks in irritation.  “I know, I know…” he mumbled. “It’s just that I’m… Well, _shy_ around her. And I don’t even know why…”

John’s expression softened; a mild smile danced over his lips.  “Don’t worry; we’ll get you there eventually.” He put an arm around Paul’s shoulder and ruffled his hair more affectionately than he had actually intended.

“Hey!” Paul chuckled, swatting John’s hand away from his precious hair. John cracked a sheepish smile, but didn’t remove his arm from Paul’s shoulders… Or the hand resting upon the younger boy’s biceps, for that matter.

Paul stared out of the window, watching the city’s scenery passing by as he tried so hard not to pay attention to that one fingernail that gently and yet barely noticeably scraped his skin. This ticklish feeling might have sent the most pleasant shivers down Paul’s spine, but to him they felt as wrong as could be.  He dared to glance at John from the corner of his eye. The older boy had his eyes closed, a faint grin gracing his features.

_ What is he thinking? _ , Paul mused and found himself unable to avert his gaze.

“Stop staring at me,” John suddenly said, brown eyes staring back at Paul.

“I-I wasn’t staring at you.” The latter’s cheeks flushed.

“Of course you were.”

“And why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” John quirked an eyebrow, giving Paul that scrutinizing look with which he suddenly had to learned to deal.

“Well, why do you keep stroking my arm?”  
  
A smile broke out on John’s face. “Touché.”

The moment that John lifted his arm off of Paul’s shoulder, Paul chided himself for having made that remark. The pleasant tension between their bodies was gone; the delightful tickling on his arm had disappeared. Why couldn’t he just shut up? Paul was more than confused when he noticed that he wanted to feel it, feel  _him_ again. It was foolish, certainly, but right now, Paul didn’t care. Not when John gently nudged his knee – deliberately or not – and gave him an almost shy smile.

Paul found himself smiling just as shyly back and replied to John’s nudging with a soft poke to his ribs.

*

Together they exited at the oncoming bus station and waited for the next bus that would bring them back home.

They didn’t talk at all while they were on their way back, but caught each other’s glance every now and then. Both of them grinned in embarrassment whenever that happened, both feeling like the most stupid people on earth.

Soon enough, though, they arrived at their bus station and Paul turned to John with an expectant expression. “We need to get off.”

“… _What_?” John’s eyes grew wide in shock.

“The bus,” Paul said dumbly with a frown, “We need to get off the bus now.” He repeated every word slowly as if he was talking to a child.

“Oh… Yeah, I see…” John let out a small, awkward cough as he got up from his seat, walking towards the exit door. Paul was right behind him.

“What were you thinking then…?” he asked, mouth close to John’s ear, grinning.

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I said it was nothing, okay?” John snapped and quickly stepped out of the bus. He could hear Paul chuckling softly.

What a fucker.

* 

“Make yourself comfortable.” Paul said, and patted the empty space next to him.

“You know that I suck at guitar playing.”

“And that’s why you asked me to teach you, right?” Paul replied with a crooked smile.

John sighed. “Aren’t we clever?” He took his guitar and sat down next to Paul on his bed.

“Julia taught me some chords,” he began, “But they’re just useful for the banjo.”

“I don’t think they’re _that_ different from usual guitar chords. Let’s try it.”

They began with the few chords John had already picked up from his friends and while Paul tried to figure out if there were _any_ similarities between guitar and banjo chords, John watched how Paul’s hand  flew over the guitar’s neck, practically caressing the strings. He had to watch him attentively, especially because Paul was left-handed. But somehow, John didn’t mind; the space between the other boy and him became smaller and smaller as the lesson went on. Soon enough, John found himself almost sitting on Paul’s lap.

“Hey,” Paul eventually said, looking straight at John.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you wear your glasses? You’d see what I’m doing much better if you wore them.”

John shifted his weight. “I’m not comfortable with wearing them. Make me look like a right freak.”

Paul smiled and reached out to pat his shoulder. “It’s only me, John. I’ve already seen you wearing them. They’re fine.”

“That’s only happened on very few occasions,” John scoffed.

Paul shrugged his shoulders. “I like them. Make you look like Buddy, you know.”

Maybe it was just a cheap trick in order to make John put on his glasses but Paul’s words had a rather positive effect on him. After a long shared look between them, John got up with an exaggeratedly grave sigh and went to his bedside table.

“I hope you’re happy now,”  he muttered and returned to his place next to Paul whose face lit up when he saw that John had put on his glasses.

Not knowing what to do, John helplessly plucked a few strings. He hated awkward silences, although it seemed as if he was the only one to find this situation awkward; Paul still watched him with a smile and was apparently hoping for John to say something.

“Well,” John sighed, “Shall we continue…?”

“I’m only waiting for you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Paul looked down at his guitar and absentmindedly stroked the dark wood while John watched him. Those slow movements and light touches of Paul’s fingertips… John shook his head quickly. His skin had begun to tingle as his eyes had followed every movement of those hands, just as if his fingertips had stroked his arm…

_ Get a grip, boy. _

“Are you okay?” Paul had stopped playing and was looking at him with eyes full of concern. “You look worried…”

John cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m fine…”

“And what were you thinking about?”

“Nothing?”

“Oh _not again_ , John. I don’t believe you! Come on, tell me.” A smirk played upon Paul’s lips as he teased John by digging playfully his side.

“Oh Christ, Paul, I’m fine, okay?”

“Aha.” _Poke._

“Really.”

“Really?” _Poke, poke._

“Shall we continue?”

“But this is much more interesting.” _Poke, poke, poke._

“And I would love to learn some new chords, thank you very much.”

Paul sighed and put his hands back where they belonged – his guitar. John, though, had to admit that he certainly did not mind it when Paul’s hands were all over him. Well, not in _that_ way, but he surely enjoyed the contact.

“Okay, John,” Paul then said, interrupting John’s thoughts, “Try this chord. I know it’s a bit difficult to play, but give it a go.”

“Nothing’s too difficult for me, Macca,” John said with a smug grin; Paul only rolled his eyes.

As John tried to put his fingertips on exactly the same position as Paul’s, he noticed that it was indeed not as easy as he had imagined it. With his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth accompanied grumpy noises, he tried his best, but something in his brain refused to make good use of the given information. In the end, he gave up with an exasperated sigh, ready to throw his guitar out of the window.

“I can’t get it right. I’m too tired,” he whined, hating to admit defeat. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“Let me help you,” Paul suggested. He put his guitar down on the ground and crossed his legs, now facing John completely.

“Give me your hand.” He held out his own and when John gave him his left hand, Paul put it back on the guitar’s neck.

“I know this chord is a pain in the arse, especially when your fingers aren’t flexible –”

“What!?”

Paul smiled. “But it’s quite easy once you got it. You put the index finger here…” He took said finger and placed it on the right position. “The middle finger is here… You always got it one string below!” Said finger found its position as well. “And you put the middle finger here and the little one there.”

John watched Paul with wide eyes as he placed gently each finger on the right strings and frets. He was so patient with him; John would have already called his pupil a talentless fuck and would have thrown him out.  After Paul was done, he didn’t let go of John’s hand, but looked up at him.

“What?” John asked, smiling insecurely.

“Strum!”

He did as he was told and _oh_ , what did his ears hear…? A clear chord without the nasty sound of vibrating strings. As John averted his gaze from his hand and back to Paul, he was met with a very smug grin.

“Am I a good teacher or am I a good teacher?” Paul asked cockily.

“A teacher who molests his pupils!” John replied with a pointed look at Paul’s hand – which was still holding his.

“Oh!” Paul quickly withdrew his hand as if he had burned himself on a hot plate. “Sorry for that.”

“Are you blushing?” John asked, not even trying to hide his grin.

“Me? Blushing? Why would I blush? Don’t be silly!”

Paul let out a nervous chuckle and gave John’s shoulder a good punch.

“Ouch!” the latter cried out and rubbed the hurt spot. “Why do you always punch and tickle me?!”

“I – what? I don’t!” Another punch followed which hit _exactly the same_ spot again.

“You just did it again! Stop it!”

“Did not!” _Punch._

“Paul, I said stop it! Or at least try to hit _something else_ , okay?”

“I’m not hitting anybody!”

Before Paul got another chance to punch John’s shoulder, John quickly grabbed his fist.

“Stop it.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

John rolled his eyes in sheer annoyance. “Of course you do, don’t be so daft, son.” John poked Paul’s chubby side with his free hand, causing the younger boy to wiggle his body like an eel.

“Now you stop it, you fucker! You know that I’m ticklish!” he giggled, trying to swat John’s hand away.

“Oh really? Would’ve never guessed that!”

And so John continued to tickle him without remorse even though Paul was at the verge of crying. He tried his best to fight John but he was soon defeated and slumped backwards onto his pillow. John saw his opportunity to torture Paul a tiny bit more and quickly put his guitar down. He was able to move freely over Paul now.

“John!” Paul cried out, still laughing and sobbing, and, kicking his feet up into the air, quite nearly missing the human target in front of him.

“I’m only taking revenge on you, that’s all!” John snickered, as one of his hands found its way underneath the hem of Paul’s shirt, tickling him even more.

“You… You tit! Get off me!”

“Only if you stop hitting my shoulder!”

“Paul? John? Dad brought home some cake….”

And once again, both boys froze immediately at the sound of Michael’s squeaky voice.

Paul looked from John’s pale shocked face to his brother, who was standing dumbstruck at the door.

“Tell him we’re coming,” Paul said after having cleared his throat.

Mike simply nodded and quickly left the boys alone.

“Fucking great.” Paul buried is face in his palms. “Mike probably thinks we’re queer or something.”

“Why would he?”

Paul looked up to the older one’s confused expression.

“Would you please take a look at our current situation? It’s the second time he caught you between my... you know…” Paul blushed lightly.

As John grew aware of that he was still lying fully on top of Paul, he let out a silent _Oh_.

He retreated quickly, leaning back on his heels, while Paul propped himself up on his elbows and ran a nervous hand through his hair.

“Do you think we should go down now?” John asked hesitantly.

“What would he think if we didn’t?”

“Guess you’re right,” John sighed and got up from the bed. He held out a hand for Paul, but the latter just stared at it as if it was a dangerous animal. John sighed again, this time a bit louder. “Don’t you want my help?”

“I don’t need it,” Paul replied.

“Whatever.”

Just  as John was about to withdraw the offered hand, Paul suddenly took it, squeezing it briefly. “But I appreciate it,” he finally added.

John didn’t say anything in response – he only smiled back at him as he pulled him up.

*

“Which one do you want?” Julia asked her son, while she pointed with the cake server at the last three remaining pieces. There was only one with chocolate and two with a strawberry on top left.

“The chocolate one,” John replied, but suddenly heard a sound of silent protest coming from Paul.

“Oh did you want that one?” There was a tiny hint of amusement in John’s voice.

“Yes.” And Paul was pouting.

“Strawberry for me then.”

Julia nodded, giving her son a warm smile, ignoring Jim’s “Good Lord, have mercy.” and handed out the remaining pieces.

Neither John nor Paul dared to look up from their cake. They weren’t too eager to meet Mike’s gaze, especially after what had happened.  When John almost finished his cake and was about to attack the lush red strawberry, he felt a soft nudge against his knee. He almost choked on the last piece of his cake at the suddenness, but glanced nevertheless at the person who had just brushed his leg. Paul licked his lips and gave him a crooked smile, nudging his knee again.  John, arching one eyebrow and not breaking their eye-contact, nudged back, beginning to feel slightly lightheaded. Paul brushed his leg a third time deliberately slow, but then quickly snatched with his fork John’s strawberry away.

“Hey!” John exclaimed and made an attempt at rescuing the precious fruit before it could disappear behind Paul’s full lips. To his dismay, Paul was clever enough to eat it as quickly as possible.

Grinning sheepishly, he shrugged his shoulders and mumbled a very half-hearted “Sorry, mate.”

Now it was John’s turn to sulk. He didn’t like it when people distracted him like _this_ in order to steal what they want. With a grim expression, he simply kicked Paul’s shin and smiled apologetically when the latter suddenly began to cough loudly.

“ _Sorry, mate_.” he said silently, fluttering his eyelashes.

“Boys…” Jim’s voice seemed to come from far away, like from another world.

John had completely forgotten about the others around him. He had felt so excluded from reality when he had been in his tiny bubble together with Paul. So naturally, he was lost for words when he noticed that the other three family members were staring at them.

“Yes, Dad?” Paul finally asked all innocently after he had swallowed down the strawberry.

“Why can’t you two just eat your cake without causing trouble?”

Paul glanced at John. “Oh John owed me that, you know.”

John’s head turned around slowly.

“He knows why,” Paul added and shot a glance at Mike, making it clear for the Lennon boy what he was actually talking about.

Letting out a fake laughter, John lightly stepped on Paul’s foot, causing a grin on the other one’s face – even though it was scrunched up in pain.

Jim shook his head in utter confusion; Julia only shrugged her shoulders and looked at her husband questioningly. Both were clueless about their sons’ strange behaviour. Only Mike eyed his brother and John suspiciously, chewing thoughtfully on his cake.


	9. Chapter 9

It was an early morning in the middle of the week when Paul woke up, bathed in sweat, surrounded by heat. Although the sun hadn’t even reached its zenith yet, it was already unbearably warm in his and John’s room. His cushion and sheets were damp with sweat, just like the clothes that were sticking to his skin.  He kicked away his blanket and quickly stripped off his t-shirt, shuddering at the disgusting sticky feeling of the wet cotton scraping his skin. Now he was lying half-naked in his bed, only dressed in his briefs, and he would have loved to take them off if John wasn’t sleeping on the other side of the room.  He glanced at the other boy and Paul figured that John must have felt exactly the same way, as he was just as naked as he was. Paul tried to get up, but felt too weak. The heat was slowly simmering his poor brain and he imagined that vegetables must feel exactly the same way when they were gently cooked with lots of love. And heat.

“Jesus Christ, Paul, go back to sleep…” John suddenly grumbled from his bed, now facing him with lazy eyes. “You’re as loud as a herd of elephants in a fucking china shop.”

“I’m sorry that I woke you up, my prince,” Paul replied sourly.

“I forgive you, Precious Princess McWobbly Bits. But keep quiet, will you?” John managed to lift up his fuzzy-haired head, letting his eyes wander briefly over Paul’s body.

“If I wasn’t so absolutely tired, you’d earn a punch from me,” Paul yawned, smacking his lips. John laughed softly.

“Not a kiss? I’m disappointed, son,” Paul blinked, blushing lightly. He chose not to answer John’s question and listened instead to the early birds chirping outside.

“Paul,” John broke the silence eventually, “I want to visit my aunt today. Promised her that I’d come ‘round to look after that old lady.”

“Really.”

“And I wondered if you’d like to keep me some company?”

“Why me…?”

“Why not?” John propped himself up and supported his head  with one hand, rubbing an eye tiredly with the other one. “She wants to get to know you now that we’re roommates.”

Paul looked up to the ceiling, absentmindedly trailing his fingertips up and down his naked stomach. “Does she live far away?”

“No, we can take the bicycles.”

Paul glanced sideways at John, not failing to notice that the other had been watching every movement of his hand above his belly; it was still lightly caressing his skin. John quickly flicked a tongue over his lips.

With a smirk, Paul lifted himself up from his bed and walked towards the other boy.

“I’ll come with you. Shall we leave after breakfast then?” he asked, now standing directly in front of John with his hands resting on his hips.

“I’m ready when you’re ready,” John replied with an insinuating wink, discreetly letting his gaze trail from Paul’s face downwards.

“Good.”

With a swift movement, Paul turned around, picking up his shirt and an old pair of shorts. When he left the room, he wondered if John had enjoyed the sight he had just been given. Why was everything just so very strange and fucked up, and yet occupying his mind day and night?

*

Breakfast was rather silent. Mike had left home early, since he wanted to go swimming with some friends before it got too hot outside; Jim was at work.

Julia put her cup of tea aside and eyed the two boys in front of her curiously.  “I was wondering if we three could go to the city today? It’s my day off and I’ve got to get some things. It would be really nice if you two helped me. It’s beautiful outside and maybe we can do something afterwards.”

Both John and Paul stopped chewing on their butties and gave each other side glances.

“You’ll also get ice cream,” John’s mother added, smiling hopefully.

Paul grinned to himself when John put his jam butty down on his dish and made an attempt at explaining his mother _why_ neither he nor Paul could lend her a helping hand.

“But I thought you were going to see Mimi next week.”

“Well, apparently not,” John rolled his eyes, “Look, I promised her that I’d introduce her to Paul and –”

“Why would she want to meet him?” Julia cut off her son, but quickly patted Paul’s hand apologetically when she saw his offended expression, murmuring, “Sorry, dear.”

John blushed lightly, mumbling something unintelligible about Paul being his roommate and about Mimi getting to know at least _one_ decent friend of his. Said decent friend turned his head to face John.

“I’m your _friend_ …?” he asked, not quite believing the other’s words.

John nodded. “Of course you are. What were you thinking?” It sounded so nonchalant, as if it was _understood_ that he belonged to John’s circle of friends.

They exchanged an intense look, smiling mildly, until an angry grunt from Julia brought them back to reality.

“I don’t really know _why_ you still want to see her.”

John ran his hands through his dishevelled hair, sighing in exasperation. “She’s my aunt. I lived for in the same house as her for several years and you don’t want me to see her at all anymore?” He scowled at Julia, whose expression was still a stony mask. “Mimi’s lonely… I think that should be reason enough to visit her.”

“Well then,” Julia got up from her chair, “Do what you want to do.”

“Oh I will!”

“Fine. I’ll take the bicycle then.”

“But we need the second one!” John protested, glancing briefly at Paul, who had completely lost track of what the conversation was actually about.

“You can share the other one. It will do you good, John,” Julia replied, shrugging her shoulders. After she had cleaned up the table and taken her basket, she left the room without saying goodbye to the two boys, obviously offended that John chose Mimi over her.

By now, John’s face was red with anger.

“Thank you, _Julia!_ ” he hollered after her and turned to his extremely confused newly-found friend. “Let’s get dressed and get out of here. She makes me sick.”

* 

“Do you want to go first or shall I?” Paul asked as he picked out fresh clothes from his wardrobe.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I think we can also share the bloody bathroom,” John said, cleaning his glasses.

“But –”

“We’ll be quicker, Paul.” He gave Paul a stern look.

Paul gave in with a nod and a begrudgingly agreeing groan. He left the room without any further comments or even questions about why John wanted to leave so desperately.  In the bathroom, he brushed his teeth, completely lost in thought and not noticing how John sneaked in, until he placed a cold hand on Paul’s bare hip. The latter jumped a little with a silent squeak and accidentally dropped his toothbrush.

“Fucking hell, your hands are bloody freezing!”

“Quite phenomenal, isn’t it?” John cackled. “And that in the middle of summer.”

“Astounding, indeed,” Paul agreed.

He picked up his toothbrush, cleaned it and then washed his face.

As he looked up again, he could see John standing in front of the toilet – completely naked from his waist down. For some strange reason, Paul’s face went crimson red – the sheer intimacy of the moment made him feel tremendously uncomfortable. Still, though, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from John’s reflection in the mirror, eyes fixed upon the other boy’s bare lower half.

“Anything interesting for you to see there or is there a reason that you keep staring at me so lecherously?” John suddenly asked and when Paul finally managed to look up at John’s face, he could see that John was staring right back at him with piercing eyes.

Paul’s mouth was dry. “I-I wasn’t staring…” he croaked with a slightly trembling voice.

Now John was grinning smugly as he pulled up his briefs, causing Paul to blush even more as he turned to face him completely just before he had pulled up his underwear.  He stepped next to Paul, shoved him slightly away with his hip and reached for the soap.

“It’s okay to look from time to time, you know,” he said to Paul with a mischievous wink, “Size comparison, if you know what I mean.”

*

To Paul’s dismay they had to share a bicycle as Julia had taken hers. Mike was gone as well and Paul’s was broken. Only his mother’s bicycle was still left – which was actually a rather fortunate circumstance since her bike had a carrier.

Because Paul didn’t know how to get to Mimi’s place, John was the one to cycle whilst Paul was sitting behind him, feeling even more miserable for having to hold on to John’s sides for dear life; John’s cycling abilities were not the safest to say the least. He didn’t avoid any holes or bumps in the street, ignored red traffic lights and didn’t pay too much attention to people who dared to cross his way.

But Paul didn’t protest a single time; he only clung to John’s body and hoped for the best.

“We’re almost there,” John said after a while, now slowing down his speed.

“I hope so…” Paul muttered into John’s shirt and loosened his tight grip around the other’s waist. “John…?”

“Mh-hm?”

“Why did Julia make such a fuss about your aunt?”

John didn’t reply immediately. A few seconds passed in silence during which Paul could practically _hear_ how John’s brain was working out a way to give him a satisfying answer. But it seemed to be a rather difficult task.

“Well…” he began at last, sounding as though he wasn’t quite sure himself. “I think it’s got something to do with me. Mimi didn’t want to let me go and live with Julia. But as you can see, it’s not hard to guess whom I chose.”

“No, not really,” Paul chuckled softly.

“And I assume,” John continued, “Mimi’s angry with the both of us, because we’re such arses.” He giggled to himself, but didn’t seem too happy at all. “She’s angry with me because I chose my mum, and angry with her because she took me away from my dear auntie. But Julia never told me the whole story, y’know…”

“And why does she still want to see you?”

John turned his head slightly to give Paul a wink. “Because I’m her little precious.”

They stayed silent for the rest of their journey. Paul looked around, trying to imagine John living in this very slightly better part of Liverpool. It wasn’t upper class or anything like that, but still a little bit neater than his own neighbourhood.

Soon, John stopped in front of a house which had a cute little garden in the front and curtains hanging on the windows that would usually remind one of old spinsters who’d sit all day long in their rocking chair, stroking their black cat and yelling at little children.  Everything was so… clean and well-tended.

“For how long did you live here?” Paul asked as he looked around, following John to the front door.

“Since I was five?” John replied with a frown and knocked on the door.  “Mimi! It’s me!” he suddenly shouted, causing Paul to flinch.  John pulled one of his spastic faces, making Paul giggle silently, and turned back to the door. It didn’t take long – only a few seconds, actually – until the door was opened by a very posh-looking middle-aged woman.

_ No wonder John moved out _ , Paul thought as he shook Mimi’s hand with a slightly insecure smile.

“Come in,” she ordered, stepping back inside John’s former home. Mendips, as he preferred to call it, wasn’t much bigger than Paul’s home at Forthlin Road. The only difference was that one could actually see that it was a single woman’s household, unlike his own place, where it was too difficult to turn a blind eye on the fact that four men (and only one woman) were living there, _three_ of which in their teenage years.

Everything at Mendips was so much tidier; Paul was actually scared to touch anything.

Mimi had prepared tea and cake for the two boys. Licking his lips, Paul shot a questioning look at John and then at a chair.

“Take a seat, Paul,” John grinned, shaking his head at Paul’s unabashed appetite for something sweet.

“Tea?” asked Mimi, who was still standing in the middle of the room when the boys had already sat down.

Paul nodded vigorously. “Yes, please.”

John glanced briefly at him, mumbling silently “Bootlicker.” and earned a soft kick against his foot from Paul.

While all three of them were eating their cake and sipping their tea in silence, Mimi stared at Paul and John – back and forth, forth and back – until John had enough of it and put down his dish, sighing in annoyance.

“What?” He didn’t even try to hide his irritation, which became all too clear with an angry grunt.

“How are you?” Mimi asked, trying to sound airy.

“Fine. I’m fine. And _Paul’s_ fine, too, aren’t you?” John, who absolutely could not stand Mimi’s behaviour towards the other boy, gave Paul a pointed look, who quickly nodded his head. His mouth was still full and his cheeks were bloated, which made him look like a little hamster. John started to laugh involuntarily. He took a napkin and handed it to Paul, not daring to wipe off the few cake crumbs from the other’s round cheeks.

Mimi ignored John’s not so subtle hint at Paul. “And how do you like living there? I mean, I haven’t seen you for almost two months now.” It was an accusation and not just a simple remark. She wanted John to feel guilty and had obviously succeeded, as Paul could feel John flinching next to him.

John let out an embarrassed cough and avoided Mimi’s look. “It’s fine, really. Couldn’t be much better.” He then flashed a smile at her which clearly said that he was enjoying his freedom.

Mimi fidgeted nervously with her napkin. “Oh John! Won’t you please come back? It’s not the same anymore.”

John rubbed his face, while letting out a deep sigh. “We talked about this a million times before. I’m _not_ going back. I’m staying at Paul’s.”

When John subtly nudged Paul’s leg with his, a faint blush tainted the latter’s cheeks. He felt how his stomach fluttered when John had mentioned his name. Suddenly, the tablecloth seemed to be the most interesting thing he’d ever seen, as long as he could hide the silent smile that had crept upon his lips. He heard Mimi sighing in defeat and how John moved his chair to stand up.

“I’m going to show Paul my room now, if you don’t mind.” Just before he passed her, he gently squeezed her shoulder – a silent apology.

“Paul? You coming?”

“Er… Yeah.” Paul quickly got up from his chair and thanked John’s aunt for the delicious cake before he hurried off, following the older boy.


	10. Chapter 10

Paul’s first impression of John’s room was divided. It was messy since Mimi hadn’t bothered to tidy up her nephew’s room yet; she was probably keeping it in the current state as a memory and still hoping that he was going to return someday. Things were lying simply everywhere; pieces of paper with doodles on them, paintings and some clothes as well. It was pure chaos and creation and Paul loved it.

He wandered around the small room, taking a closer look at everything that caught his eye. John sat down on his bed, opened the window and took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

“I’ve never seen you smoking,” Paul remarked with a frown as he turned around and sat down next to John.

The latter didn’t reply, only arched one eyebrow which was answer enough. He put a cigarette between his lips and lit it, taking a long drag from it and exhaled the smoke through his nostrils.  He looked so much more relaxed now, Paul mused with his eyes still fixed upon John’s mouth.

The corners of said mouth curled up into a smirk as John noticed how captivated Paul was by his actions. He took the cigarette and held it in front of Paul’s face. “Fancy a puff?”

Paul’s eyes wandered from the cigarette up to John’s face and back.  “I don’t know, really,” he gulped, shrugging insecurely, “I don’t think Dad would approve of it.”

“He smokes a bloody pipe, Paul…!”

“That’s why he knows better!”

John rolled his eyes which was accompanied by an annoyed grunt. “Hey, if you don’t want to, it’s all right. I should’ve known that you’re still a child and an extreme coward. We don’t want old Lennon to corrupt your innocent little mind with his filthy ways, do we?”

“Give it to me,” Paul suddenly demanded and snatched the ciggie from his fingers. The grin on John’s face almost reached the corners of his eyes as he watched how Paul studied the cigarette first, hesitant, and the smile broadened even more when Paul decided to shrug off his qualms and worries and put it between his lips.

The first puff of his life stung in his lungs and hurt as if they were on fire. Coughing violently, Paul caused his friend to burst out with laughter.  He patted Paul’s back after having taken back the cigarette and waited for Paul to calm down.

“Better?” he asked after a while, when Paul’s coughing had slowly subsided.

“Yeah, think so,” he croaked huskily.

John took one last deep drag from the cigarette and stubbed it out on an old notepad. Mimi could always come in without bothering to knock.  “You’ll get used to it. And before you can say knife, you don’t want to miss it.” John smiled blissfully at Paul who began to wonder what John might have been actually talking about. 

“We’re still talking about ciggies, aren’t we?” he deadpanned, but glanced quickly at John, insecure and slightly uneasy.

“Only if you want us to,” John cackled and put an arm around the younger boy’s shoulders, drawing him closer. “Have you made any progress with what’s-her-name?”

“Val?” Paul frowned.

“Ah yes. _Val._ ” John’s breath smelled like an ashtray, but there was still that sweet scent from the cake lingering in the air and Paul found himself greedily inhaling it as much as he could.   


"Have you talked properly to her yet?”

Paul dropped his head in shame. “Only two or three times since we last met her. Nothing of any great importance and it just irritates me.”

John eyed him pensively and clicked his tongue. “You’re lucky that you’ve got me, son.”

“ Well, you haven’t helped me much yet, have you?” Paul replied, smiling weakly.

John ruffled his hair, cracking a lopsided smile. “And I’m going to change that. Trust me.”

“How...?”

“Girls want boys who are cool. The kind of blokes that can take care of a bird or at least _pretend_ that they’re able to do that.”

Paul gaped at him. “So you’re saying I’m not cool enough?” The offence in his voice was all too obvious; he tried to push John’s arm away, but the latter kept it steadily in its place as if it was glued to Paul’s body, pressing him closer to his side and making him feel even more uncomfortable.

“Yes, Paul, I’m saying that,” John simply stated, ignoring the other’s lame attempts at fleeing from his embrace. “And do you know how I’m going to change that?”

“Oh, please tell me before I wet myself,” Paul grumbled testily and folded his arms. 

“You can be a part of my band... If you want to.”

He looked at John in the most incredulous way imaginable, mouth agape, eyebrows knitted together. He let out a soft chuckle which evolved quickly into an almost shrieking laughter. No, he just couldn’t believe it. 

“You seriously think I still want to join?” Paul tried to suppress his laughter when he was met by John’s glare. 

“Either that or you’ll stay a virgin ‘til some old dumb and deaf slag is kind enough to let you fuck her!” he spat and lifted his arm from Paul’s shoulders. 

“Oh please, John. I’m sorry, okay?” Paul laughed and took John’s arm, putting it back to where it was before. “I will gladly join...”

John replied with a morose grunt that sounded to Paul like _Ungrateful bastard_.

They sat like this for some minutes; Paul hoped that John would stop sulking while John glared at his pack of cigarettes. 

“Fancy another one?” he finally asked and Paul felt immediately better with the change of his mood. 

“No, thanks,” he replied politely, putting up his hand. He didn’t avert his gaze from John’s intense stare, though.

John let out a frustrated sigh as he rubbed his eyes. “What did I just tell you about being a _real_ man?”

“But not today.” Paul chuckled and patted John’s hand on his arm like a girlfriend would do. A smile crept upon John’s lips the moment they both realised this.

“It’ll be difficult, Macca, but I shall exorcise those girly mannerisms of yours.” In an unexpected moment of madness, he grabbed Paul’s chest and squeezed it as if he was trying to feel up a girl. Said boy went pink in an instant despite his helpless laughter as he slapped away John’s greedy hand. “Stop it!”

“N’aw, Paulie! You know how to break my heart, don’t you, you little cocktease?” John’s silky voice caused Paul to giggle uncontrollably, ignoring his strange choice of words.

“Shut it, Lennon. Your aunt might hear us.”

“So?” John pursed his lips and suddenly shouted “Oh Paul! I don’t remember that you were _that_ big!”

He let out a long, throaty moan and ecstatic _yeahs_ , jumped up and down on the mattress, which caused horrendous squeaking noises, while Paul watched him with big eyes. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. She’s in the garden, torturing poor little daisies.”

“But the window’s open.”

And now it was John whose mouth fell open in horror; it seemed as if his eyes would pop out of his head at any second. “The bloody window’s still open and you’re not warning me?!”

“I thought you remembered!” Paul laughed at John’s sudden distress and the way he perceptibly cringed as they heard Mimi’s loud voice from outside: “John  _Winston_ Lennon! I hope you’ve got a good explanation for this since the whole neighbourhood was able to witness your obscenities!”

Nothing but Paul’s cheerful howling emerged from John’s room. Mimi shook her head, muttering “ _Children_ ,” before she returned her attention back to the flowers. 

“You’re such a stupid cunt, really!” John hissed at Paul after he had peeked over his sill down at Mimi, ready to duck his head away in case she might look up.

Paul was still laughing softly. “I love you, too.”

“Burn in hell, Macca.”

“Well at least we’ll meet again. Have a nice chat or something.”

“I’ll poke your chubby arse with the Devil’s fork if necessary.”

John carefully closed the window and leaned his head against Paul’s shoulder. “This fucking heat is killing me.” He let out a sigh, accompanied by a hearty yawn.

“Then open the window, you git.”

“With Mimi listening to every bloody word we say? No, thanks.” John retorted and tried to imitate Mimi’s posh way of speaking, while the tone of his voice turned into annoying nagging.  “Language, _John_! Wash your hands before dinner, _John_! Wipe your arse clean and flush, _John_! God, I _can’t_ stand it!”  Paul broke out into a fit of hysterical giggles once again while he listened to John’s mad rambling, apparently not being able to stop now that he was on a roll.  “Turn the volume down, _John_ and feed the fucking cats, _John_! And I don’t want any of your filthy lower-class friends here, _John_!”

And then John was silenced by Paul’s hand, which was pressed firmly against his mouth.

“I get it,” Paul said with a cheeky grin. “No need to make my ears bleed, mate.”

All of a sudden, something wet touched Paul’s palm; when he noticed that it was John licking the insides of his hand, he quickly withdrew it and wiped his hands off on John’s shirt.  “You’re a disgusting pig.”

“And you’re sweet.”

Taken by surprise, Paul looked up at the other boy. “ _What_?”

“Didn’t I say _taste_ …?”

“No.”

“I said _taste_ , I’m absolutely positive.” A faint blush tainted John’s cheeks, which he tried to hide away by looking quickly in a different direction.

“John?”

John ignored Paul vehemently and got on his feet. He walked over to a shelf which was at the other side of the room. “Want to listen to some music?”

Paul knew that it was futile to bug John about what he had said and that he would most definitely not get anywhere if he did so, thus he finally gave up and nodded his head. “Sure.”

John picked a random record – Elvis – and put it on.  The first few chords of Jailhouse Rock filled the room and John turned back to Paul, smiling like a happy child.

“I just love him,” he said as he settled down next to Paul again - this time, though, he kept some distance to him - just to be on the safe side, of course.

“Yeah, he’s great,” Paul agreed with a nod and closed his eyes, enjoying the music, letting it enter his mind and run through his whole system. He began to hum along softly to the melody when suddenly a deep groan startled him.

“Christ… Elvis always gets me horny.” John shifted awkwardly as he tried to cross his legs.

Paul’s mouth, though, simply fell open. “What?” A soft, slightly nervous chuckle bubbled up inside of him.

“It’s not as if I was queer, you know…” John began, blushing. “But there’s just something about that voice that shoots right into my groin and gets me hard.”

Paul didn’t reply instantly; discreetly, he shot a glance at John’s abdomen and was surprised to find the contours of a hard-on.

“Wow,” he said dumbly, and quickly averted his gaze while John covered his crotch with his hands.

“If only we were at Nigel’s now…” A sigh, full of longing, escaped John’s lips. Or maybe it was a reaction to the subtle movements he did with his hand over his clothed erection. Paul wasn’t sure, but his eyes widened as he caught those movements the moment he had stolen another glance at John. But then, suddenly, when he felt a twitch in his own abdomen, he jumped up from the bed and ran to the turntable to switch it off.

“Why did you do that?” John frowned at him, but still kept his hand to his crotch.

“I-I’m allergic to his music,” Paul replied sheepishly, knowing that John looked right through him and the nonsense he babbled. Meeting John’s unabashed look, he just wanted to disappear into a dark, dark hole. The fact that John was visibly amused by this didn’t make things better.

“As allergic as me, I suppose?” John leered at him with a wink.

“Maybe…”

“Sit down then.”  John patted the empty space next to him. Paul just kept staring at him, not making any attempts at moving.  “I said sit down. I’m not going to molest you.”

“You sure?” Paul smiled at him, all too aware of John’s lazy movements of his hand.

“Not in Mimi’s house, no.”

“Well then…”

Paul felt awkward when he joined John on the bed again. He swallowed hard as he tried to focus on something entirely different than John’s hand and its terribly hypnotic movements.

“So,” he began, “What’s so special about this Nigel?” He was thankful when John finally, _finally_ stopped rubbing himself and let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh he… Er… Throws parties.”

“Parties?”

“Yeah, parties… Really good ones, you know.”

“With girls?”

John smirked. “Sort of.”

“How can there be sort of girls? Either there are girls or not. And grannies don’t count.” Paul added.

John patted his leg – and of all things, with _that_ particular hand. Christ.

“Paul, I think you should come along next time. It’d do you good.”

Paul didn’t like the mysterious glimmer in John’s eyes – it might have been slightly disturbing but it made him curious for more nonetheless. How he hated John for that.

“We’ll see.”

“No, no half-hearted promises which you don’t want to keep, anyway! You’re going to come with me and that’s it.”

“But –”

“Paul!”

“All right…”

John smiled at him and pinched his cheek. “You’re cute when you’re pouting.”

“What the –”

John began to cackle maniacally. “My precious Princess should be grateful for any compliment she gets.”

“Oh bugger off.”

*

Not long after they, or rather _John_ , had decided to pay Nigel a visit, they said their goodbye to Mimi.

“And come back again, soon, will you?”

“Of course,” John said and gave her a peck on the cheek.

Although Paul didn’t mean to watch them, he couldn’t refrain himself from sneaking one or two glances. And he couldn’t help himself but smile as he watched John kissing his aunt’s cheek. What a nice bloke he could actually be, completely different from the usual Teddy boy image he tried to represent. And it still astounded him anew whenever John actually let him catch a glimpse of that gentle side.

“Are you ready then?” John asked as he approached Paul.

“Yeah.”

“Do you think you’re able to find the way back home?”

“Uh I suppose so… Why?”

“Because,” John said as he straddled the carrier, “You’re going to bring us home.”

Paul rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be joking.”

John pursed his lips in expectation, making Paul mutter silent curses under his breath.

“No worries, I can guide you if you’ve lost track.”

John slung his arms around Paul’s middle and made a clicking noise with his tongue, beckoning Paul to cycle away as though he was a bloody horse.  After about ten minutes, Paul had to trust John’s knowledge and so they cycled through the golf park between Mendips and  Forthlin Road . Soon, they found themselves dashing through the park nearby, which Paul didn’t remember from his way to Mimi.

“And you’re sure this is the right way?”

“Why yes, of course. It’s just a bit nicer here, that’s all.”

“Okay, but if we get lost, I’ll blame you.”

“This isn’t the bloody  Congo , Paul.”

“Just sayin’.”

When the road ahead of them began to go slightly downhill, John suddenly lunged for the breaks and brought them to an abrupt halt.

“Hey! What was that for now?” Paul asked with irritation in his voice.

“Are you brave enough to cycle down that hill without holding on?” John nodded at said path before he gave Paul that well-known challenging look, mischief glimmering in his eyes.

Paul nodded his head slowly. “Of course I am. Aren’t you?”

“I’ve done it thousands of times,” John waved his hand dismissively, “The question is if _you’ve_ got the balls to do it.”

“I do!”

“What are you waiting for then?”

Paul glanced once more at John and took a deep breath, telling himself that everything would be perfectly fine. After all, Paul only had to balance two bodies on that old and definitely not trustworthy bicycle, hadn’t he?  He felt how John tightened the grip on his hips when they started to move. Everything was still fine, Paul was still allowed to use his hands and the point from which they would cycle downhill wasn’t there yet.

“Get ready!” John reminded him teasingly.

“I know, I know…” Paul hissed back through gritted teeth.

And then the point of no return came.

“Now!” John yelled and Paul let go of the handlebar.

Suddenly, he felt free. He could hear a joyful scream coming from behind him and Paul joined in. He felt the summer wind brushing his skin and in his hair, felt how the rays of sun and the trees’ shadows danced over his face while his nostrils were filled with the smell of every single flower and tree, the earth beneath them and the air around them.

If only every day was like this, Paul wished, too tempted to close his eyes for a moment and to enjoy the feeling of John’s arms around him, hearing him laugh so jauntily.

And then he heard a cry, “ _Watch out!_ ”, felt a bump, and then it all happened too fast for Paul to comprehend what John had actually meant.


	11. Chapter 11

The smell of the dirty ground was humid and even slightly sickening. The smell of the flowers was too sweet, too strong for him to bear and the air didn’t seem as fresh as before.  He felt something touching his face; a soft caress over his cheek, a gentle squeeze on his arm and a concerned “Are you alright…?”

Paul slowly opened his eyes and was met by John’s bruised face staring down at him, brows furrowed and eyes full of worry.

“Paul? Can you hear me?”

He tilted his head lightly, leaning into John’s soft touch. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine... But how are you?” John asked with an almost raspy voice – it sounded to Paul as if it was on the verge of cracking.

Paul blinked, trying to remember what had happened. “Did we crash?”

John only let out a nervous laugh. “Oh how we did that, son. You hit a fucking root.”

“Ah… I seem to recall that, yeah…”

“Good, good. Now tell me, can you move?”

“I think so…” Paul moved his arms and legs just very slightly, relieved that he was not paralysed.

John propped him up carefully, slung one arm around his waist and put the boy’s arm around his shoulders, making sure to provide proper support. “Come on! One, two, three…” He hoisted him up, but as soon as Paul was on his feet he let out a cry of agony and slumped back down onto the ground, feeling slightly sick.

“My foot hurts!” he complained as he tried to fight the urge to vomit. “And I feel sick.”

John kneeled down in front of him, clueless about what to do now.

“Do you want to take a rest?” he asked with a frown, but Paul shook his head, wincing at the pain.

“No, I just want to go home.”  A soft sob or two escaped his mouth, simply because the pain in his head and ankle wouldn’t stop. But then, when he noticed how John put an arm around him and soothingly caressed his back, his problems suddenly seemed so much smaller.

“I’m so sorry… You’ve got no idea how much I regret this fucking bet,” John whispered softly into Paul’s hair. He looked up at and was surprised to find that John looked even more miserable than Paul felt. He didn’t bother to reply as he decided to give John’s hand a light, reassuring squeeze which told the other that it probably wasn’t _that_ bad.

John gave him a weak, half-hearted smile in return and stroked Paul’s dirty hair with his other hand. “Let’s get you home, eh?”

“But I’m not going to sit on that Hell machine again!”

John broke out into laughter. “It’s broken, anyway. We have to repair that fucker first before we hit the next immovable object.”

Paul glanced at the bicycle next to them and felt a sting of guilt, knowing that he had just destroyed his mother’s bicycle.  Fortunately, John didn’t give him enough time to dwell over it; he positioned himself in front of Paul with his back facing the other boy and looked over his shoulder.

“Hop on!”

Paul hesitated and looked at John with a frown. “You… You want to carry me all the way home?”

“I don’t know any other way to do it. I can’t fly yet, you know, but feel free to make a suggestion, Paul.”

Paul only sighed in defeat as he climbed upon John’s back, who held his legs in a secure grip when he started walking.

*

As they were on their way home with Paul on John’s back and the latter somehow managing to shove the broken bicycle by his side, Paul closed his eyes and leaned his head against John’s shoulder. The nausea wouldn’t go away and the pain coming from his ankle pulsed through his entire leg, making it almost impossible to concentrate on any more pleasant things.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep on me!” John joked with a mildly serious tone in his voice.

“Why?”

“Because you might get sick on me with that concussion.”

“A concussion? How do you know? Are you a nurse?” Paul giggled into John’s neck, nuzzling the soft skin underneath the hairline.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Paul that John’s breathing accelerated slightly, causing his lips to curl up into a smile.

“No,” John said, “But I had one once and it was no fun at all.”

“How did it happen?”

“Curious aren’t we?” John said, a grin evident in his voice, before he continued, “Dunno… I was a child and played with a few friends outside. Somehow, I stumbled upon a fucking stone and kissed the street with my face.”

“Ouch…”

“It wasn’t as bad as it sounds, really. But the feeling afterwards was just grotty.”

“Mmh…” Paul hummed, feeling drowsy.

He snuggled closer to John and inhaled his scent. Although it was primarily John, the scent also mingled with the smell of home. In Paul’s opinion, it wasn’t only a heavenly combination, but a very soothing one as well.  As his lips scarcely brushed John’s neck, just the faintest of touches, Paul could have sworn that a shiver ran through the other’s whole body.

“My mum was a nurse… Well, a midwife, but you know…” he mumbled eventually, barely audible, “She’d known what to do now…”

John stayed silent. What could he say to make Paul feel better, anyway?

_ Nothing. _

He could only imagine what it must feel like to lose one’s mother completely, to never see her again for the rest of one’s life, to think of her with an aching heart.  Sure, he might have been apart from his own mother for most of the time of his life, but one couldn’t really compare this to losing one’s mother _completely_.  Instead of replying with empty and meaningless words that wouldn’t make his friend feel better, he only caressed his calf with his thumb; Paul appreciated the slow, comforting movements and squeezed John briefly, tightening his embrace quickly and yet gently.

After a while, Paul recognised the street they were on and breathed out in relief, knowing that he very soon could lay down in his bed with a secure feeling.  As much as he enjoyed clinging to John like a baby monkey to its mother’s back, he felt terribly uncomfortable about John having to carry him around like an invalid.

The moment they had reached the front gate, John carelessly dropped the bicycle onto the ground and went straight to the door, knocking loudly against the dark wood.

“Where are your keys?” Paul murmured curiously into his ear.

“In my pocket, silly.”

“Then why don’t you use them?”

“Can’t be arsed,” John replied with a shrug.

“Well then…”

Paul’s head was hurting so much that he was beginning to feel dizzy. Everything had begun to spin as if he was riding a carrousel and so he leaned his head back down against John’s shoulder, cuddling him and wishing that the bloody pulsation in his head would just go away.  Fortunately, Julia was already back at home and immediately called a doctor while John tried to carry Paul upstairs.

“Let me down!” Paul suddenly ordered with panic in his quivering voice when John had finally reached the second floor. He immediately did as he was told and Paul slid down his back and stumbled into the bathroom, visibly shaking.

He hated throwing up, hated the disgusting taste on his tongue, hated the weakness that followed shortly after. But throwing up with John in hearing range was just humiliating for the young teenager.  Still being in the process of emptying his guts into the toilet, Paul didn’t notice how John had come to sit down next to him. He was startled at first when he suddenly felt a hand rubbing his back in a comforting and a quiet “I’m so sorry…” murmured against his ear.

Soft sobs escaped Paul’s lips as the last waves of nausea washed over him. What was wrong with him that he was now about to cry like a bird? Maybe the happenings of the day had been just too much for him.  John handed him a towel to clean his dirty mouth and helped him up to brush his teeth – actually, helped him to feel better in general.

When Paul seemed to have regained some stability, John guided him into the bedroom, fluffed up his cushion and settled down next to Paul, stroking his poor head tenderly.  It was one of those very few, very rare moments when John showed his gentle side and allowed himself to let down his guard, and Paul appreciated it more than ever, happy that someone was sitting next to him, kept him company and _soothed_ him.

The last time something like that had happened had been when Mary had still been alive and Paul had suffered from a serious fever for a whole week.

His eyes began to tear up at the memory and the ache in his heart was almost unbearable. Closing his eyes quickly, he turned on his side away from John so as not to let him see that he felt like letting it all out, crying until there were no more tears left.  It was much easier to concentrate on the slow, soft strokes on his hair and John’s presence next to him. John was obviously tormented by his guilty conscience; otherwise, his voice would have sounded stronger when he greeted the doctor who had just entered their room with Julia.

Paul could see it in John’s eyes that he didn’t really want to move away from him – his affection ceased with reluctance, and only so that the doctor could take a look at Paul.

As John had already assumed, he indeed had a concussion which would last a few days, if not weeks. His ankle, however, was sprained which meant that he had to treat it with care from now on. Almost instantly, Julia ordered that Paul had to stay at home for the next few days until he felt better – which meant, in other words, that he was doomed to stay at home for the last remaining days of his summer holidays.  Paul’s excited reply was only a morose grunt and the question if he was at least allowed to move around freely within their four walls. The doctor let out a deep, vibrating laughter.

“Of course, but don’t do too much. Your foot will heal quicker when you try to put as little pressure as possible on it. You don’t want to end up as an invalid, do you?”

Of course it was just a joke, but Paul chewed on his lip with a frown and nodded. He hated the fact that he was trapped at home now.

“Don’t worry, love,” John said to him after Julia and the doctor had left, attempting to cheer him up, “I’ll take good care of you.”

“You?” Paul asked, incredulous.

“Don’t you trust my abilities, Mr. McCartney?” The tone in John’s voice was mock-serious; the corners of his mouth twitched visibly, nearly curling up into a grin.

“Oh I do, I do…” Paul replied just as serious as John. “But I can be quite a pain in the arse when I’m sick.”

“I think I can handle that.” John smirked, giving him a cheeky wink.

Although Paul tried his best, he couldn’t control the warmth that shot up to his face, making him feel even dizzier than before.

“You should get some rest,” John suddenly remarked, now without that playful air that had surrounded him seconds earlier. He looked at him intently; the worry from earlier had returned. “Does the medicine help?”

“Yeah, I think so…”

“Good.”

John stood up and stretched his body briefly, before he leaned down to Paul, his face only mere inches away from the other.

“We don’t want to be responsible for serious mental damage and a disgustingly crippled foot, do we?” His voice was only a soft murmur, but the affection in it couldn’t be completely concealed from Paul.

They looked into each other’s eyes once again, gazes locked as if they were exchanging words without the need to speak them out loud. For a split second, John’s gaze wandered down to Paul’s slightly parted lips  And then, without a warning, he gently poked Paul’s nose, causing the latter to wrinkle it while he giggled.

“If you need me as your personal slave, just call my name.”

“What about Friday? Do you fancy that name?”

“We’re not on a bloody island and you’re not bloody Robinson Crusoe, son.”

Paul gave him a scowl, lips forming a pout.

“I’m just joking,” John immediately retreated and pinched Paul’s cheek with a friendly smile. “You can call me whatever you want to.”

“Friend?”

“Brother?”

“Mother?”

“Lover?”

Despite the strange mood shift that followed John’s last rhyme, they both cackled like the naughty boys they were, trying to avoid the awkward silence that was looming over them.

“You wish you were my lover, don’t you, Johnny?” Paul smiled up at him, while his eyes slowly began to feel heavy.

“Most definitely, yes. I’m the local poofter, didn’t you know that?”

“I always knew something was wrong with you.”

“Says the girl of the family.”

Feeling too tired to carry on with their little banter, Paul simply shrugged his shoulders. He let out one last yawn and within seconds, his eyes fell shut and he dozed off.  John was still by his side, looking down at him with a thoughtful expression, and brushed one lock of Paul’s dark hair from his forehead.  A soft sigh escaped the other’s lips and suddenly a thought occurred to John which he had tried to suppress so desperately over the last few days, maybe even weeks. A shiver ran down his spine as the idea popped up again and kept on nagging at him.

_ Maybe, just maybe… _

A brief glance over his shoulder, half-expecting Mike to stand at the door _again_ , and a dismissive shrug later, John fixed his gaze upon Paul’s calm face, held his breath, closed his eyes, and leaned in.


	12. Chapter 12

Six days had passed since their little accident and Paul was beginning to feel better – much to John’s relief.

He had feared that Paul hadn’t been as unconscious as he had assumed when he had just very, very, _very_ briefly brushed his lips with his. It hadn’t even been a peck, just a connection which ended very quickly. Quickly enough to save his arse when Jim had suddenly entered the room to take a look at his son.

John had always feared that Paul might ask him about that incident and what the fuck was wrong with him, but somehow it never happened. If Paul had ever asked him, though, John would have probably denied everything as he wouldn’t have been able to give a proper answer for he hadn’t the slightest idea either. It had probably been just an impulse, a moment of confusion as a reaction to Paul’s strikingly feminine features. But the boy wouldn’t have believed him, anyway, would he?

*

On the seventh day of Paul’s stay at home, the least thing John would have expected to come was a visitor for Paul, as no-one else had heard about their accident yet. And it wasn’t just _someone_. It wasn’t Ivan or that Harrison boy, no.  It was a blonde girl named Val and she was standing right in front of John, looking like a scared deer.

“Hello…” she said seconds after John had opened the door. “Is Paul there?”

“Oh I don’t know…” John replied with a shrug and looked over his shoulder. “Paul? Are you there?” he shouted and a giggle coming from the living room was said boy’s instant reply.

“What do you want?” Paul shouted back.

“Not me, but Val.”

Silence.

Apparently, Paul was just as speechless as John was surprised – something which didn’t happen too often those days.

A soft sound could be heard – carefully placed footsteps upon the ground – and soon enough, Paul was by John’s side, eyes wide open as he saw that John wasn’t joking for once.

“Hi,” he managed to say, sounding very much more confident now… all of a sudden.

“Hey…” Val replied, blushing lightly.

They stared at each other, just _gazed_ into each other’s eyes, smiling – and John couldn’t help but to let out an annoyed grunt.

“Shall we go upstairs?” Paul then asked, to which Val nodded with a shy smile.  She helped Paul, who suddenly couldn’t walk without any help to the stairs. After a while of silent curses and exaggerated moans of sheer pain, John could hear the door of their room close.

He tried to listen for any sounds that would escape the room, but when his ears were met by nothing but irritatingly silent silence, he began to chew on his lip, pacing around in front of the stairs like a restless animal in a cage.  Looking up once again, he decided to spy on them. He took two steps at one time and practically leapt to the door.  Peeking through the keyhole, he could see how they both were sitting on Paul’s bed, talking quietly to each other.

_ If only those fuckers spoke up a little… _

As he watched them with curiosity, he was torn between his feelings. On the one hand, John hoped that Paul didn’t do anything wrong now and fucked things royally up, on the other hand, though, he wondered what for God’s sake he saw in her. She wasn’t _that_ pretty, to be frank. Quite average, actually, and just because she was blonde, she wasn’t a second Bardot. Not with those tiny tits, anyway.

Suddenly, both had stopped talking, sending John behind the door into a fit of hysterics. His nostrils began to bloat and tremble as he watched how Paul took the girl’s hand in his, caressed it with these beautiful fingers of his and kissed its back.  He could hear how that stupid bint began to giggle, and _Christ_ , did she sound stupid.  Like a hyena, almost.

And although John was as blind as a bat without his glasses on, his eyes suddenly worked perfectly well. He could see _it_ in her eyes – that unabashed lust for his friend.

Paul leaned forward, ready to close the distance between them, as Val tilted her head slightly up and met his lips.  It was all quiet; no sound came from the room and John could only hear his own ragged breathing.  They didn’t part, no. Instead, Paul put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer into his embrace, making her moan lightly as he deepened the kiss. Probably shoving his tongue down her ugly throat.  Val reached around Paul and let her hands wander over his back and eventually stopped at his buttocks. _How dare she –_

“Paul! Have you seen my bloody sketchbook? I seem to have lost it somewhere. Or maybe Stu stole it the last time I saw him. Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

He had stormed into the room without hesitation, not caring about the startled pair on the bed. Anything that interrupted them and got that bird’s greedy hands off Paul was more than good enough for John.

“Could you please knock next time?” Paul hissed.

John turned around to look at him and, good Lord, that sight should have been forbidden.  Lush, red lips, crimson tainted cheeks, slightly dishevelled hair and glassy eyes, dark with arousal.  John couldn’t recall a single time he had seen Paul in such a state and he allowed himself to drink in that sight for the shortest of split seconds, before he asked Paul all too innocently, “Were you occupied…?”

The glance and the shy smile Paul shared with the bloody girl didn’t go unnoticed by John’s hawk eyes, but he pretended not to have seen it.

“Sort of, yeah,” Paul was smiling at him now and it almost made John lunge forward and attack his ravishing mou –

“Oh I see. Well then, have fun,” he curtly said and yet tried to show his best sly grin, before turning around on his heels.

“I should go, too,” Val suddenly said with a small voice, making John stop in his tracks; he couldn’t believe his luck.

“So soon? Why?” And Paul couldn’t believe the trick fate was obviously playing on him.

“Got to take care of my nephew. Babysitting.”

“I see…” The disappointment in Paul’s voice only made him look even more desperate, almost like a kicked dog.

“You could come along, too… Someday, if you want to,” Val offered and everything inside of John was screaming _Alert! Alert!_

He knew all too well that 'babysitting' was just another fucking codeword for “Hey, shall we shag our brains out whilst praying that my parents won’t walk in on us?”

She was clever, John acknowledged. Usually, he liked smart people, but not when they tried to steal what was his; John had shown many people before what would happen if they took his toys away from him without asking.  She glanced at him briefly, shy and somewhat intimidated by his presence.

“See you then,” Val said, but then Paul took her hand and gently pulled her towards his body. John’s eyes grew wide as he witnessed how the other boy placed one last sweet kiss upon her lips, before she stumbled out of the room with an annoying, no, _irritating_ giggle, high on hormones and butterflies in her stomach.

John turned his head slowly back to Paul, who was leaning back in his bed, arms folded behind his head and a smug smile plastered all over his pretty little face.

At that very moment, John felt like punching that self-satisfied smile away.

“Why was she here?” he heard himself asking and hated the demanding tone in his voice.

“Because I’m sick?” Paul replied, sounding just as equally annoyed as John.

“ _How_ did she know? And why the fuck does she know where you live?”

_ God, John, just shut up! _ , he chided himself mentally, cringing inwardly at his own jealousy. _Fuck, fuck, fuck…_

Paul eyed him for a teasingly long moment, before he finally decided to give him an answer. “She happened to see you carrying me home. Val said she had followed us, but had been too afraid to say hello. That’s it.”

“What a bloody tart,” John muttered under his breath, too quietly for Paul to notice. “And so she decided to snog the living daylights out of your brain – I mean _decided_ to visit you, eh?”

Paul looked at him in utter bewilderment. “What is wrong with you? Why aren’t you happy for me? After all, that was part of our plan, wasn’t it?”

John’s lips were pressed into a tight line, trying to hold back the stream of offending thoughts and words. Clenching  his hands up into fists, he walked over to his bedside table, opened the first drawer, took out his sketchbook and closed it rather forcefully so that the lamp on the top began to wobble back and forth.

“Found it,” he muttered though clenched teeth and left the room just before the anger boiling up inside of him made him do or say something that he might regret later.

* 

Both John and Paul avoided the _V-word_ from now on and concentrated on enjoying their last days of their summer holidays.  While John sometimes went out to meet his friends, especially those whom Paul hadn’t met yet but happened to be the subject of many of his tales, Paul tried to forget their names and succeeded quite well in doing so.  In the meantime, George visited him a couple of times and they both played their guitars and, in unison, dreaded going back to school. But then, it happened often enough that John interrupted their chatter and play by simply storming into the room or into the garden so that in the end, they asked him to join them. Paul didn’t mind; in fact, he was quite delighted and George was thankful for not any further interruptions.

Once or twice, the rest of the Quarrymen came to visit them since Paul wasn’t allowed to go out yet and so it happened that they also had their first rehearsal as a band. Even Julia and Mike were allowed to watch and occasionally join in as well. Paul liked the other boys and got along with them quite well – much to John’s relief.

It was the last Saturday before school started again and John had just received a call from his friend Pete, Pete Shotton.

“Paul, get ready! We’ll go out!” he called from downstairs. A few moments later, he heard the footsteps of Paul’s naked feet against the floor, the soft _pat-pat-pat_ sound which always made him imagine that his friend was actually a duck.

“Why?” Paul asked as he peeked over the railing.

“We’re going to Nigel’s. Pete just called and asked if I wanted to come along.”

Paul frowned. “But you know that it includes only you… And Julia didn’t allow me to go out until I feel better.”

“I know,” John smiled wickedly, “And that’s why I asked Julia for her permission and told Pete to get another chair for you.”

“John, you didn’t really have to do that…”

“But now it’s too late, so shut up and put on a shirt. You don’t want to look indecent, now do you?”

“What kind of party is it, anyway? It’s too early!”

But John only gave him a cheeky grin as an answer and walked away, leaving Paul once again with too many unanswered questions and concerns. His curiosity, however, hadn’t subsided but instead had become even worse now.

*

During the bus ride, the air surrounding John was still as irritatingly mysterious as it had been at home. He refused to answer any questions, only smiled to himself and patted Paul’s leg, reassuring him that it wasn't going to be a ritual ceremony during which they had to sacrifice a virgin. The virgin would be Paul, of course.

“Oh so you won’t do me no harm?” Paul joked and John smirked in response, poking his side gently.

“No, darling.”


	13. Chapter 13

Nigel’s house wasn’t far away from Mendips, actually just around the corner. But since they had missed the bus, Paul’s ankle still hurt slightly, and it was still impossible for them to use the bicycle, they decided to walk to Nigel’s. It was the last hot day of the year and both John and Paul were panting heavily as they finally arrived, thirsty and sweating like animals. On their way to Vale Road, Paul had suggested that they should visit Mimi and ask her for something to drink, but John had refused – he didn’t feel the urge to see her again _for now_. Who knows what her appearance might have done to harm his  _ mood _ …?

Nigel’s first words to Paul – which weren’t in the least friendly or inviting, but just terribly blunt – didn’t make him feel much better in his current state of exhaustion, “You look like a bloody mess!”

John laughed softly, patting Paul’s shoulder, “I don’t look any better, Nigel.”

“Well, I’m already used to your grotty appearance, Lennon,” Nigel smirked and directed his attention back to the other boy, “But I suppose we’ll all look like this in the end, eh?”

“Indeed, indeed…” John smiled back, exchanging a meaningful glance with his friend which left Paul utterly confused.

“The others are already waiting for you two. Come in!”

“Yeah, sorry for that,” John apologised with an exaggerated sigh, “We missed the bus, because someone had considered it wise to spend half the day in the bloody bathroom.”

Paul, who didn’t miss the subtle dig of John’s at his earlier worry about what to wear and his decent looks, glared at him; John just replied with a cheeky wink and disappeared into the house.  As Paul followed them, he tugged on John’s shirt in an attempt at trying to get his attention.

“John!” he hissed, quiet enough so only John could hear him.

“Hm?”

“What’s this all about?”

“The party?”

Paul nodded but couldn't hide the scowl on his face.

John patted his shoulder lightly, mumbling “You’ll find out soon enough, mate,” and continued his way up the stairs.

With a sigh, Paul followed and almost tripped over a huge hole in one of the stairs.

“Oh be careful with that one!” Nigel called from upstairs, “Dad hasn’t repaired it yet, you know.”

“Bloody brilliant…” Paul muttered, relieved that he had managed to grab the reeling just in time, before he had another accident.

When he got to catch a first glimpse of Nigel’s room, he found that 'the others'  were actually the rest of Quarrymen, who were all looking at the door expectantly as John and Paul entered the room.

“Hi!” Paul said as he waved at the others, feeling slightly awkward, and was greeted by half-hearted  _hellos_ and _how-are-you-doings_.

John took the chair next to Paul and flashed him a content smile, which clearly said _See? No-one’s killed you yet!_ , to which Paul replied with a frown, which – vaguely translated –  meant _No, but the bloody dangerous staircase almost did the job, you cockwomble! Thanks for the warning._ John’s reply to that was a mere shrug, accompanied by a lopsided smile, and then he averted his gaze from Paul and started chatting with Pete.

Suddenly, Nigel closed the curtains and the atmosphere in the room shifted completely. The dim light coming from outside didn’t help Paul to feel more relaxed; in fact, he started to fear that something was indeed going to be sacrificed. At least the circle he and the others had created was indication enough for a creepy ritual.  Paul closed his yes, silently cursing himself and his stupidity for having agreed on coming along.

“Anybody here who wants something to drink?” Nigel then asked as he turned around to his friends.

“Beer, if you don’t mind,” John said, accompanied by agreeing noises.

“Paul? What about you?”

Said boy swallowed down the lump in his dry throat and shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m fine.” Water did just sound too weak.

A disapproving sound came from John, which clearly served to mock him. “Don’t be daft, son. You can drink and smoke as much as you like. We’re not at home with your father watching us all the time.”

“I said I was fine,” Paul insisted with an unusual calm voice.

John only shrugged his shoulders, muttering, “Fine then,” and sank a little bit more into his armchair.

Soon Nigel was back with his arms full of bottles, which he handed to each guest, who happened to be less prudish than Paul.  Seeing how the other boys visibly relaxed whilst drinking, Paul began to chide himself for being so stuck up and stupid and wished he hadn’t said no. At least he’d be part of the group now, which was clearly beginning to enjoy itself.  A single finger was poking his shoulder and when he turned his head, John held up his bottle for him, offering it with a questioning look. With a faint grateful smile, Paul took the bottle and sipped at it a couple of times. Not long after, he felt a little bit more relaxed than before and nodded at John, now smiling broadly, which was met by a wink from the other.

Paul hadn’t drunk much alcohol in his life yet; once or twice, actually, and then only when he had attended a relative’s birthday and his parents had allowed him to empty the last few remains of their drinks.  And now he was sitting here together with John, who seemed to corrupt him and his mind in so many ways.

The mood in the room began to shift once again from somewhat tense to relaxed and comfortable. Paul found himself less nervous than before; thanks to John and the beer, he was beginning to enjoy himself as well.  Maybe a bit _too much_ ,  seeing as he didn’t know exactly _who_ started it first or _when_ it started, for that matter.

He was still slightly confused about the fact that he currently had his hand down his trousers, rubbing, stroking and squeezing himself vigorously. And above all that, he wasn’t as disturbed by the other boys’ presence as he had been at the beginning, until the others had told him that it was fine to do it, because _they all_ did it regularly.

One second they had been talking about how much they enjoyed playing as a band and discussed some new songs they could try out, the next moment, someone said 'Jane Russell' and it seemed to him now as if they had started to masturbate as if on cue. It was odd, bizarre to say the least. Soft groans and suppressed moans filled the room; names of famous actresses were murmured into the disturbing silence and dim darkness. They went from Jane Russell to Marilyn Monroe (“Oh fuck yes!”) to Judy Garland (“Please, no! She reminds me of my mum!”) and Elizabeth Taylor (“Oh Lizzie…!”) and some more random women they could think of until they stopped at Brigitte Bardot – every boy’s wet dream and dream woman.

Paul bit down on his lip as he tried not to slip a deep groan as he imagined how she kissed and licked her way down his body; his eyes were screwed shut, brows furrowed in concentration. He alternated between painfully slow strokes and quick movements, letting out a silent cry, while imagining how she took him into her beautiful, beautiful mouth.

But then, his ears picked up on a sound of ragged, shallow breathing and silently muttered obscenities.

“Fuck, yes… Oh _God_... ”

John’s voice was husky with want and lust. Something about the way how needy he sounded, made Paul suddenly stroke himself faster, squeezing harder, urging him on.  With one eye merely opened, he glanced sideways at his friend, catching a glimpse of his rapt expression.

Well, curiosity had most definitely killed the cat.

And Paul didn’t even really regret it, although he was indeed feeling guilty for suddenly letting out a rather loud, lewd moan while he was intently watching John now, never stopping the movements of his hand.  The noises Paul was creating, unfortunately caught John’s attention and he looked right back at Paul through heavy half-lidded eyes. Paul blushed lightly, but John didn’t say anything or did something to make him avert his gaze. He bit his lips unconsciously as he held Paul’s stare, his own grip tightening around his erection. John’s sighs and moans got louder as well along with Paul’s, and together they created a strange, almost electrifying atmosphere between them.

Just when John was about to come, he realised in a moment of consciousness what he was actually doing, what he was actually _about_ to do. He tore his gaze away from Paul – much to the latter’s disappointment – and yelled that particular name that came into his mind which didn’t reflect what he was thinking and was less arousing than  _ Paul, Paul, Paul... _

“Winston Churchill!”

“Oh fuck off, John!” Pete then yelled back angrily from his chair, accompanied by more shouts and curses.

As for Paul, he only let out a weak, silent giggle and was more than thankful for the poor light in the room. No-one could see the crimson colour on his cheeks, nor could any of the other boys have noticed his and John’s odd, fucked up staring duel.

He was on an unusual high and knew  that John was as well. Paul had felt the tension between them, and as confusing and especially disturbing as it might have been, somehow… somehow he felt as if it had always belonged there, that it was right, that it was a part of the nature of their relationship. He couldn’t put his finger on it, not even if his life was dependent on it, but what had begun to grow between John and him – this bond – was slowly beginning to blossom.

Paul stole a glimpse of his friend, who almost automatically glanced back. In the poorly lit room, Paul could see a faint smile dancing over John’s lips, lighting up his features.  And that was the moment when Paul knew that he was right. John felt it, too.

*

There was nothing but silence between the two boys as they were on their way home. Before they had left Nigel, they had set up a new date for their next band rehearsal and Paul was already looking forward to it. He might have liked the others and was more than excited about making music with them again… but _wanking_ in a dark room in a circle with the others around him, was something completely different. He wasn’t used to such a violation of his privacy, let alone locking eyes with a friend whilst pleasuring himself into oblivion.

Paul’s face went beet red as he recalled that very moment and kicked tiny innocent pebbles that lay ahead of him in order to distract himself, hoping that John wouldn’t bring up the subject.  But the boy walking next to him was just as quiet as he was, was just as embarrassed and cowardly to admit that he had felt the same strange connection the moment they had looked at each other and into each other’s eyes, carrying on with the stimulation shamelessly.

Perhaps John was even more flustered than Paul was and that was only a small comfort to him.

Sitting on the bus in complete silence, they kept a safe distance from each other, not wanting to touch the other in any way possible. Neither of them even dared to look up or speak the first word since they had left Nigel.  It wasn’t until they arrived at home in the early hours of the evening that either of them spoke a word.

“Had a nice day, lads?” Jim asked from the living room when John and Paul entered the house.

He, Julia and Mike were watching TV – probably the news programme – and eyed them curiously.

“Yeah, it was all right,” Paul replied with a forced smile and went upstairs, closely followed by John.

They joined the rest of the family not much later; Paul was playing cards with his brother and Julia, Jim was reading a book whilst humming silently along to the music that was coming from the radio.  John was sitting next to his mother, sketching cartoons into his sketchbook, half-watching the card game.

Paul felt John’s look lingering on him, and as he looked up with curiosity, he noticed that John was actually sketching him.

“What are you drawing?” he asked nonetheless.

“A comic,” John said absentmindedly, too occupied with his work.

“Of what?” Paul continued to ask, almost teasing.

John then looked up, smirking. “Of you losing.”

“What – ?”

Suddenly, Julia let out a shriek of excitement, bouncing up and down, flailing her arms wildly and scaring the rest of the family.  When Paul looked down at her cards on the table, he understood.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath and threw his cards onto the table.

“Told you so,” John remarked dryly, but with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

Paul grimaced at him, barely resisting the urge to flip him off.

*

Fortunately, the air had cooled down tremendously and so the temperature in their bedroom was much more bearable than it had been in the morning.

Paul stepped into their room, nodding at John, signalising that the bathroom was free now, and crawled into his bed.

It had been quite an adventurous day for him and when the memories of his odd staring contest with John came back, flooding his mind, making him feel slightly dizzy, he grabbed a book and tried to continue reading it from where he had stopped. His thoughts, however, were whirling wildly around in his head, causing him to let his mind wander to forbidden places and much more illicit activities. He kept tapping his fingers restlessly against his book while his mind kept wandering off to what things John had said with his husky voice back at Nigel's. Eventually, he gave up, tossed the book aside with a frustrated sigh and looked around in the room. His gaze stopped at John’s bed and he noticed that the other’s sketchbook was lying on his pillow, all too visible for curious eyes.

“Getting careless,” Paul mumbled to himself as he got up from his bed and sneaked over to John’s. He hesitated at first and cast a glance over his shoulder, almost expectantly, but when no-one walked in, he shrugged, grabbed the little book and scooted quickly back to his bed.

Flicking through the pages, Paul giggled every now and then at the strange doodles and comics. None of them were realistic, but that was what appealed to him so much – it was unique, it was crazy, it was confusing, it was John’s personality.  When he finally got to see the comic John had drawn earlier, he puffed out his cheeks in offence; since when did he look like a girl? And those ridiculously long eyelashes were just blatantly exaggerated. He didn’t look like that, no. What on earth was John thinking…

“Having fun snooping around in my stuff?” a voice suddenly piped up which made Paul jump in surprise.

“Can’t you knock?” he snapped back, blushing at the fact that John had caught him.

“I’m sorry, but no-one ever taught me how to do it right,” John replied, now smiling mildly. He walked to Paul’s bed and sat down next to him. “Done looking at it?” he asked and held out a hand.

“No,” Paul pouted and continued flicking through the pages.

John shifted closer, positioning himself behind Paul’s body so that he could look at the book over Paul’s shoulder.  With every new page, Paul let out a silent giggle as he studied carefully every of John’s pieces of work.

“Is that Mimi?” he asked and turned his head slightly to look at John, who had rested his chin upon Paul’s shoulder and the latter felt his silent laughter resonating throughout his whole body.

“Yes. That was after one of her cats had made a mess in her bed. She was furious and you could hear her yelling three streets away from Mendips.”

Paul bit his lower lip in order not to laugh too loudly – after all, the rest of the family was already asleep.

He directed his attention back to John’s sketchbook and while he was wondering if the next drawing was a portrait of John’s friend Stuart, he tried not to pay too much attention to John’s head resting against his or the deep sigh and the breath tickling his all too sensitive skin.  With his much too dry throat, Paul had problems to swallow down the lump that made it impossible for him to speak properly without a faltering voice. His few attempts at clearing his throat were simply awkward and caused John to move his head so he could watch him, while Paul shifted his weight under John’s touch.

“You okay?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Are you nervous…?” The amusement in John’s voice was all too obvious and in return made Paul protest with puffed out cheeks.

“Nervous? Why should I be nervous? I’m absolutely fine.”

“Good, good…” John said as he unfolded his legs and stretched them out on either side of Paul’s body. It had been terribly uncomfortable for him and when his knees had finally started to hurt, he hadn’t really given a second thought on what he had just done.  Much to Paul’s amazement, John shuffled even closer, while he let out a hearty yawn and put his arms around the other boy’s middle, drawing him closer to his body.

“I’m tired…” he mumbled sleepily against Paul’s shoulder, eyes closed.

“Then go to bed,” Paul suggested hesitantly and hoped that his control over his voice wouldn’t slip right now. It would be just bloody pathetic and weak, wouldn’t it?

“Can’t be arsed,” John gave Paul a squeeze and then drew him backwards as he leaned back against the wall, rest his head on top of Paul’s, breathing calmly in and out.

“I’m not a bloody stuffed animal!” Paul protested with a nervous chuckle, while John held him in a tight embrace, snuggling and cuddling him shamelessly.

“Bollocks,” mumbled he into Paul’s soft hair, “You’re very cuddlesome. And comfortable, I might add. Must be all the baby fat, I suppose.”

Paul hated to admit it, but it felt good being so close to John. It was indeed very comfortable, probably a tiny bit too cosy, but somehow he got rid of the nagging thoughts that told him that what they were doing was simply wrong in so many ways. He didn’t even dare to think of the q-word for he might have just pushed John away and told him to fuck off. But he didn’t want this, since he relished and cherished the closeness they were sharing right now and so he submitted to his feelings and snuggled up to John, shifting just very slightly until he was able to wrap his arms around him as well, close his eyes and eventually fall asleep.

*

The next morning, he was woken up by tender touches and caresses over his cheek. He opened one eye lazily, then the second and was met by the sight of John Lennon’s tentatively, almost coyly smiling face. He brushed Paul’s hair out of his eyes and his smile widened as Paul wrinkled his nose.

“Hi,” he whispered so as not to ruin the moment, poking the tip of Paul’s nose softly.

“Hi,” the latter replied just as silently, mirroring John’s smile as he trailed a finger down his aquiline nose.

“I hope you didn’t mind me kipping at yours last night.”

“No, no…! It was alright, really. Quite cosy, actually,” Paul added quickly and stretched his body lazily.

John nodded his head, humming in agreement. He rested his chin upon Paul’s chest and looked out of the window.

“Last day of freedom,” he muttered with a grave sigh, grimacing at the mere thought of college.

Paul chuckled as he watched John making strange faces and weird noises.

“What do you want to do today?” John then asked, directing his gaze back at Paul.

“Dunno.”

In a lightheaded moment of dare, insanity and perhaps even bravery, too, Paul suddenly slung his arms around John’s torso and drew him once again into a tight embrace. It might have taken the other by surprise, but he didn’t complain nor did he push Paul away; he simply imitated Paul’s actions. With his head resting upon Paul’s chest, safely tucked underneath the other’s chin, arms embracing each other and legs tangled as well, the cosiness of this strange situation began to seep in.

“We could stay here, you know…” John suggested with a silent yawn, softly stroking Paul’s biceps.

A small laugh vibrated in Paul’s chest which caused a full-wattage grin to appear on John’s lips.

“What?” he asked curiously.

“What shall the others think about it if they found us like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like… this. Cuddling like newly weds on their honeymoon.”

“Well, fuck them. Once in a while, I, too, need some affection and I don’t give a rat’s arse if I have to use one of my friends to achieve this.”

“Oh.” Paul frowned at John’s words. So he was just a _normal_ friend, like anybody else…

“Besides,” John added, this time more quietly, “I… Well, I like being here…”

“Here?”

“Yeah, here… With you.”

John then lifted his head up and looked at Paul, leaning slightly forward, hesitant at first. But then he nuzzled the other’s cheek.  “I don’t know why, but you’re one cuddlesome little lad.”

“Yeah, you said that already.” Paul laughed airily, but stopped as soon as John’s nose wandered down to his throat and inhaled his scent, lightly tickling the highly sensitive skin there.

“And you smell good. Almost like a bird.”

Holding his breath in anticipation, Paul closed his eyes and tried to ignore the tingling feeling that was beginning to pool in his belly. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was waiting for or what he was expecting John to do, but he felt disappointed when the latter laid his head back against his chest.

“Let’s just be lazy for today, okay?” John mumbled into Paul’s shirt.

“We should lock the door,” Paul began to laugh into John’s messy hair, “We don’t want to scare poor Mike again, do we?”

“I couldn’t care less about him,” John replied truthfully and snuggled closer into Paul’s side, letting out a sigh of contentment.

Eventually, one of the two boys managed to get up and made sure that the door was securely locked, keeping intruders out of their own little world.


	14. Chapter 14

It was nice seeing all his friends again after such a long time.

It was okay to sit in classes and listen to the boring words which the even more dull teachers tried to hammer into their pupils’ memories.

It was dreadful and nerve-wrecking to stay away from John for such a long time, without feeling his presence and without seeing him flashing a bright smile.

It was absolutely infuriating how slowly time seemed to pass. Every two minutes, Paul glanced at the white clock hanging above the blackboard, expecting another ten minutes to have passed, but was absolutely crestfallen when it was just another two minutes.

_ Tick, tock, tick, tock… _

What did he care about algebra? Since when had binomial formulas been more important than being with his friend? And why were pupils always forced to listen to the most awful teachers in school who were not even appealing to one’s eye? It was always the same, always the sort of people, who wore old, smelly clothes that were just as equally old and smelly as their owners.

Unlike John.

Mimi had always made sure that her nephew wore proper clothes when he had been living in the same house, never mind the drainies and the leather jacket. And above all, he smelled good – an experience Paul had made just the day before, when he had been lying lazily in bed with John for most of the time, limbs entangled in each other, and with a comfortable silence between them, sometimes soft touches and tender caresses.  Although he had taken a bath since then, Paul still felt as though John’s smell was lingering on him, causing the most delicious shivers and a slight wave of goose bumps, tickling his skin, intoxicating his senses.

“Mr. McCartney?”

Paul finally snapped out of his reverie when his teacher had thrown a tiny piece of chalk at him, which had collided with his forehead. His classmates snickered as they watched him, causing him to blush with embarrassment.  “Yes, sir?”

“I asked you to tell me the answer for number three C!”

“Oh right…”

Paul hastily flicked through his well-kept exercise-book, cursing silently under his breath. When, at last, he found the right page, he noticed a small piece of paper that was attached to one of the pages. He looked at it briefly and almost burst out into giggles when he saw that it was one of John’s dirty little drawings of them together in bed, doing unspeakable things.

“Well?” Paul’s teacher asked impatiently, tapping his foot against the floor.

“The answer is… er… five X?”

“Is that a question, Mr. McCartney, or an answer?”

“An answer…?”

The teacher let out a deep sigh as he massaged the bridge of his nose. “It is correct, indeed. Someone must have a lucky day, I suppose…” He gave Paul one last chiding scowl and turned around, continuing the lesson without any further interruptions.

_ Tick, tock, tick, tock… _

Paul shifted his weight in his chair, licked his lips, ran his hands through his hair, licked his lips again, cleared his throat, glanced out of the window, then back to the blackboard, the clock, the teacher, John’s drawing, shifted his weight once more and then – finally – the school bell rang. He hastily stuffed all his belongings into his bag and dashed out of the classroom, disregarding his teacher’s orders to stay until he had finished giving homework.

*

They had agreed on meeting on the art school’s yard, which was directly next to his. At first, Paul had considered this a bad idea as he was afraid of getting caught by one of the teachers. He knew that if it happened, they would most likely send him to the headmaster and give him extra work to do, let alone put him in detention.  But John had somehow managed to convince him with his wicked ways, used his most luring voice as he had nuzzled Paul’s ear and brushed the younger one’s throat with his lips, begging him and making him agree to his wonderful plan.

_ Bloody Lennon. _

Nevertheless, Paul was thrilled about the oncoming meeting, loving the fact that he would see him during school time. One could have assumed that he should have been fed up with John’s sometimes strange mannerisms by now, but that wasn’t the case.

He loved being with John, especially because he was never quite sure what could happen next. John was unpredictable sometimes and a little bit off his head as well,  and it fascinated Paul.  He loved those quiet moments they shared; just like yesterday, when nothing else had mattered but them.  And he was hopeful that he could somehow get back to that intimate moment, no matter if it lasted the whole day or only a couple of minutes.

“Hey Paul! Where you going to?”

_ Sigh. _

“Go away, George,” Paul grumbled as his friend spotted him in the hallway and approached him with a wide smile.

“Why? I thought we could have lunch together.”

“The thing is…” Paul looked around as he desperately tried to find a good excuse. The longer he stayed here, the less time could spend with John… “The thing is, I’m going to meet-up with John, you know, and – ”

“Fantastic! Can I join in?”

Paul bit his lower lip as he tried to hold back an impatient ‘No, because we want to be alone! So fuck off and don’t ever ask me again!’

Instead, he surrendered to George’s puppy dog look and rolled his eyes with an aggravated sigh. “All right, but stay quiet, okay? Don’t annoy anyone.”

“I can also stop breathing entirely, if you fancy that,” George deadpanned which was met by a grin from the other boy.

“Let’s go.”

*

“Why the hell did it take you so long?! The break’s almost over, Macca!”

John was fuming with a lethal mix of anger and impatience and let it all out when he finally spotted Paul’s round face in the mass of other pupils around him.

“I’m sorry,” the boy mumbled sheepishly and cast a glance at George. “We’ve got company…”

John turned his head to George, who was giving him his brightest smile. John clicked his tongue in annoyance and turned to walk away.

“Where are you going to?” Paul asked, worried.

John didn’t even bother to look at him as he spoke. “To the art classroom. It’s a bit quieter there.”

George looked at Paul questioningly; Paul looked back at George, not less confused than his friend. Shrugging their shoulders, they followed the older boy into the building.  The art room was indeed quieter, but nevertheless not completely empty. Another boy was there, currently occupied with cleaning the dirty brushes and the paint-stained tables.

“Oi, Stu!” John greeted the boy, who cared to look up now.

“Hey John. What are you doing here?”

“Brought some friends from the Inny with me. Got a fag?”

Stu nodded his head as he fumbled in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. As he threw it into John’s direction, he eyed Paul and George curiously.

“Didn’t know you were into children now,” he remarked with a laugh and directed his attention back to his former task.

“We’re not children,” Paul protested through clenched teeth, supported by a vigorously nodding George.

Stu shook his head with a wry grin. “ _Of course_ not…”

As Paul shot a glance at John, he noticed – much to his disappointment – that he was sitting next to Stu with a serene and quite amused expression, taking a few puffs calmly from his cigarette. He hoped that John would say something to that artsy fucker, but that wasn’t the case. He cackled along with Stu as the latter had made another snide remark about the two other boys.

The Green-Eyed Monster crept up Paul’s back and settled down on his shoulder, whispered things into his ear that filled his heart and mind with a sting of jealousy and paranoia.

What was _wrong_ with John…?

George turned to Paul, brows knitted. “Maybe we should go, you know… It’s late and I’d like to get something to eat before I have to survive another of Parker’s lessons.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

This time it was Paul’s turn not to bother to look at John as he and George left.

“Bye, John. We’ll be late. See you later.”

He had almost left through the door – with George ahead of him – but was stopped in his tracks at the doorframe, by John’s voice.  “Why are you leaving already? You just arrived!” He got quickly up from his chair and followed Paul, stopping right in front of him, a mere inch between their bodies.

“I just told you that we’ll be late. Pay more attention to what I’ve said next time.”

“Fuck the teachers, son.”

Paul shook his head with a look of disgust crossing his features. “I’d rather not, thanks.”

John let out a quiet laugh, nodding his head.

“See you later then,” Paul said and quickly snatched John’s cigarette from his lips, took a brief drag and handed it back to its owner, not blinking or coughing.

John gave him a toothy grin, obviously impressed by Paul’s boldness, and it was exactly that honest grin that Paul had got used to and which he had begun to love.

“Bye…” John said quietly.

And just when he turned around, Paul felt the faint brush of the other’s fingertips ghosting over the underside of his upper arm.

*

For the rest of the time he spent at school before he was finally allowed to go back home, Paul couldn’t stop thinking about his strange encounter with John and his artsy friend. John had changed completely, thanks to him. What was he called? Stu?

Paul had hoped that he was a nice bloke, especially after hearing all those stories John had always told him. Stuart had sounded like a terrific person, but in fact, he was just a stuck-up, self-important idiot, clothed in a horrible way. Paul could just not understand why John was so fond of him. But – as he had involuntarily got to know – John wasn’t much better than that Stuart, was he? After all, what good was he when he felt the need to change the way he usually behaved just to impress one of his stupid friends? It was certainly a sign of how spineless he could be.  _ Wanker. _

Paul shook his head in annoyance; he was mad at John, mad at Stu and even mad at himself as well, for being so upset about the whole situation. Where had his big mouth been when he had needed it the most?

Paul met up with Mike to sit with him on the bus, completely ignoring John’s seat offer. If Paul hadn’t known better, he would have even said that John looked offended as Paul refused to sit with him and passed him by without even greeting him.

* 

Supper was rather quiet. Paul answered all his father’s and Julia’s questions politely and went into the living room to finish his homework, all too eager to continue avoiding John as best as he could, keeping aloof from him. Very much unlike John, who replied to all questions with a morose grunt or a half-hearted shrug and went straight upstairs after having finished his meal.

Paul, though, couldn’t care less about John’s sour mood. He felt like punishing him by still refusing to pay him a tiny crumb of his attention and he carried on with his little mind game till it was time to go to bed.

Paul was already safely tucked underneath his blanket, all snug and cosy, lying on his side with his back facing John’s part of them room. His eyes were closed and stayed closed as John entered their room after having returned from the bathroom. Even when John managed to overcome his own pride and grunted “Night,” Paul refused to reply.

When the lights were finally switched off, Paul released his breath, feeling as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and relaxed. Of course it wasn’t easy for him to treat John in that miserable way, but nor had it been any more pleasant for him to see John acting so strangely around that complete prick.

He had barely drifted off into a peaceful, dreamless slumber as he registered somewhere in the back of his mind the soft sound of a rustling blanket and then silent footsteps on the floor. But when a tentative hand was placed upon his hip and John’s warm, sweet breath was tickling his cheek, he was wide awake.

“Paul…?” whispered the other boy, somehow sounding desperate. Desperate to get a reaction from him?

But Paul still stayed firm and didn’t reply; John should suffer.

The soft sigh coming from John once again grazed his skin, causing the hair on his neck to stand on end. As John took his hand from Paul’s hip, the latter already assumed that he was going to go back to his bed, defeated, crushed, hopeless – which he did.

_ …Sort of _ .

While his blanket was lifted up and John crawled into bed next to him, Paul tried his best to remain calm and composed, resisting the urge to kick the other right out of his bed.

John let out a few grunts as he tried to find a comfortable position in the tiny bed, which happened to be lying flush against Paul, facing him.  Paul shivered just very lightly when John put his arm around Paul’s waist and shuffled closer, making himself comfortable.

“Good night, Macca,” he murmured quietly against Paul’s neck and placed a shy kiss upon the skin. He nuzzled Paul’s ear shell briefly and then buried his face in his hair, sighing gravely.

In the still of the night with the Lennon boy resting peacefully by his side, Paul was beginning to wonder if he was already dreaming or if his and John’s relationship was indeed about to become more than he would have ever imagined.

Doubts and fears penetrated his mind and made him wonder if something was wrong with him, if he was off his head.  But while he listened to the other’s steady, calm breathing and felt the inevitable shift of his body every now and then, bringing them closer, he didn’t feel as frightened anymore as he probably ought to be.

Placing one hand over John’s, which was resting just below his navel, and linking fingers with said hand, Paul smiled to himself, finally feeling able to fall asleep. 


	15. Chapter 15

The bed was empty when John awoke. At first, his eyes were closed while his hand reached for Paul’s body next to him. But when he was faced with nothing but cold emptiness, he let out a small, exasperated sigh and opened his eyes as he realised that Paul had left. When John found himself alone in the bed, he feared for a moment that his presence might have disturbed the other. As if on cue, the door was silently opened and in peeped Paul’s head, hair damp and sticking to the sides of his face. A smile broke out on his pretty features as he spotted a bewildered John sitting on his bed before he stepped in completely.

“Morning,” he greeted him and began to whistle a cheerful melody to himself. It was _All Shook Up_ , and John joined in immediately while he got up from the bed and picked out some new clothes for the day.

“Well I bless my soul, what's wrong with me?” he sang to Paul, giving him an expectant look, beckoning him to continue.

The younger grinned widely. “I’m itching like a man on a fuzzy tree!”

“My friends say I’m acting wild as a bug!” John lifted his hands up, pretending to have antennas attached to his head.

Paul giggled at that, but nevertheless continued singing, now in unison with John, “I’m in love! I’m all shook up!”

John moved his hips in the same suggestive way as Elvis, while Paul was pretending to play the guitar.

And then John poked Paul’s side playfully as he passed him, making the other yelp in surprise. When Paul tried to take revenge, though, John dashed off into the bathroom and locked the door, laughing.

* 

Only a few days later, when they were on their way to school, John and Paul had immediately taken seats next to each other, completely forgetting about poor Michael. He was thankful when George entered the bus and sat down next to him. George glanced briefly at the other two boys, who had their heads ducked together, close enough that their noses almost touched, whispering things to each other and giggling as if they were planning some criminal act. The way they looked, or rather _gazed_ at each other made George shudder with a strange, uncomfortable feeling; the sheer intimacy they created was simply curious, and disturbing it would most likely equal violating a sanctuary.

“What’s up with them?” he turned to ask Mike who was also apparently watching them with the same mixed feelings.

He shrugged his shoulders, clueless. “Oh I don’t know… You could think they’re bloody Siamese twins. They’re always all over each other as if they were joined at their hips or something… Bloody strange, that’s what they are, but I’ve given up wondering about them.”

“I see…” George mumbled and averted his gaze from the odd pair that was sitting only a few rows behind them, whispering things to each other that weren’t meant for anybody else to hear but them, keeping intruders outside their little world.

*

_ Tick, tock, tick, tock… _

John’s leg was moving repeatedly up and down, up and down, up, down, up, down, never seeming to stop. His fingernails had suffered terribly during the current lesson and his little finger had actually started to bleed a little from chewing on it like a dog on a bone.  And what for? Why was he ready to strangle the bleedin’ teacher in front of him at any second if he carried on with his stupid babbling of absolute nonsense crap that was supposed to educate John a little bit more?

Because of Paul.

_ Of course. _

The boy had only reluctantly agreed on meeting him again during their lunch break, but this time would be different – or rather _was going to be_ different. Hopefully.

Although John could be sometimes tremendously thick regarding how other people got along with others and dealt with certain situations, he had been quick to notice that Paul wasn’t really fond of Stu. To put it nicely. Which was a pity, really. John loved Stu dearly. He might have always been surrounded by that air of a faint superiority, which caused others to dislike him at first, but once one got to know him, one would notice pretty quickly what a sweet soul he was, so full of inspiration that it was enough for him and John, too. Everything that Stu did was to conceal his shyness and insecurities from others, just like John.

Nevertheless, he still hoped that Paul would sooner or later like Stu as well. Maybe he just needed some time to get used to him.  However, in order to not make the other boy leave again, John had decided to go somewhere else - a place he always sought whenever he wanted to be alone and needed time to think.

After the lesson was over, John ran towards Paul as soon as he spotted him among the crowd gathered outside in the schoolyard, grabbed his hand and dragged the slightly confused boy with him.

“John, what are you doing? Where are we going to?!” Paul cried as they were running away from the yard, leaving an irritated George Harrison behind.

“Bye, George! See you later!” Paul waved at him, laughing, before he disappeared behind the next corner.

* 

“Where are we going to? And why don’t we take the bus?”

“You’ll see it when we’re there, and I just can’t be arsed to wait for that bloody thing right now!”

“John, please tell me. I don’t want to be late for the next lesson.”

But John ignored Paul’s plea and continued dragging him along. For a distance that usually took about half an hour by foot and only five minutes by bus, the two boys arrived after about fifteen minutes. It was no wonder; they hadn’t stopped running ever since they had left their schools. John was right – Paul did indeed recognise the place, as he had been to a similar one not even a whole year ago.

“The cemetery? What on Earth are we doing here?”

John slowed down his pace, still holding Paul’s hand. “Digging  up corpses. I heard some of them keep valuable stuff with them, those greedy buggers.”

“John!” Paul scowled at him as he punched his shoulder lightly. “Show some respect.”

“Why? Would they notice it?”

“No, but… you know…” Paul looked down at his feet, blushing.

John sighed in resignation. “Yeah, okay… Sorry for that, mate.”  Offering Paul a small smile, John squeezed Paul’s hand lightly just before he let go of it.

They continued to walk together at a human pace over the quiet area until John stopped at an old oak tree.

“Here,” he said, “This is my favourite place. No-one ever comes here. It’s quiet and good for when you need time to think.”

He sat down and leaned against the massive trunk. Paul followed his actions and settled down beside him, casting a glance over the cemetery. The large tree was on a small hill and so the view from here was the best.  John lit a cigarette and passed it to Paul after having taken the first puff.

“Thanks,” Paul mumbled and took a drag; he didn’t fail to notice that he was slowly getting used to the burning feeling in his lungs.  “Do you come here often?” he asked as he handed the cigarette back to John.

John nodded his head, whilst blowing the smoke through his nostrils. “As I said, I like to come here when I need to think… And yes that happens quite often, actually. Nobody knows that I like hiding away here when things get too stressful.”

“Stressful?”

“With school and Mimi nagging me about my bad marks, you know? ‘Study more! The guitar's all very well, John, but you'll never make a living out of it!’ Christ, I can’t hear it anymore.”

Paul frowned while he chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Then do both. Study and make music.”

John turned to face him with an amused smile. “My dear Mr. Paul McWonderland, there’s not enough _room_ left in my head for both things. And since I happen to hate studying, you can imagine what I prefer to think about.”

“Girls with big tits?”

“Fucker!” John exclaimed with a surprised chuckled and tackled Paul down to the ground.

They both were laughing and howling loudly as they wrestled on the grass for the upper hand. Paul suddenly cried out in pain, which startled John immediately.

“You okay?” he asked with concern.

Paul tried to wriggle himself free underneath him, but all his attempts were in vain. “I’m lying on a stupid rock!”

“Oh, I see.”  John lifted himself up and as soon as he was kneeling in front of the younger boy, Paul took the opportunity and leapt forward, pinning John down to the ground.

“Hey, that’s not fair!”

“Love and war are never fair!” Paul replied, wiggling his eyebrows comically.

Somehow, John had managed to pull Paul down on top of him, but because of the latter’s constant attempts at freeing himself from John’s embrace, they both ended up rolling down the hill as they held on to each other for dear life.  They stopped spinning with John landing once again on top of Paul, which caused the other to let out a soft groan.

“Now, who’s the one in charge?” John laughed as he looked down at Paul’s frown.

He still held him close and grew suddenly aware of the intimate proximity. He placed one arm on the side of the other’s head, almost cradling it, while his other free hand brushed some dirt from Paul’s cheek.

“Hi,” he said quietly as he looked straight into Paul’s eyes, which were surrounded by the faint wrinkles that appeared whenever he smiled.

“Hi,” Paul replied with a grin at him.

Involuntarily, John’s gaze wandered down to Paul’s slightly parted lips and lingered there for moment too long, while his tongue flicked unconsciously over his own lips. He wouldn’t have noticed the hand that was placed upon his neck if Paul hadn’t touched the skin with his fingertips, tentatively drawing slow circles at first which quickly evolved into tender caresses on his skin and hair.  Almost automatically, John’s hand cupped Paul’s cheek properly, stroking the faintly blushing flesh underneath his imperceptibly trembling fingers just as gently. He didn’t really know what had happened between them and why they were doing it, but it felt good, felt _right_.

The activity of John’s brain was rapidly slowing down, dizzying his mind, while in the meantime his heart was beating frantically against his ribcage – just like Paul’s.

As Paul then placed his other hand upon his back, John’s ability to think clearly was reduced to a minimum, which consisted of primal thoughts only. He smiled sheepishly down at Paul, murmuring “Hi,” once again and nuzzled the other’s nose.

“Hi…” Paul said again and chuckled silently at John’s obvious display of affection and closed his eyes.  And by applying soft pressure on the elder’s neck, he gently pressed John’s head down to his and connected their warm lips.

If John’s mind had already been blank before, then it was practically sucked into vacuum now.

Silence had replaced the chaos in his brain and let in all the sounds and smells that were surrounding them. The soft whisper of the grass in the wind, the faint breeze that grazed his skin, the sounds of the birds high above them, but most of all, Paul’s smell that filled his nostrils as an overwhelming, powerful sensation. Let alone his warm, full lips that were moving under his, somewhat insecure and hesitant, and yet sort of desperate for more.  John could hear a low growl, which he soon recognised as his own, mixed with Paul’s soft moans.

Just when he was about to deepen the kiss and turn this innocent first (for him second) contact into something more serious, realisation slapped him hard across the face.  He was kissing his friend, a _bloke_ , and was kissed back by him; the worst thing was that neither of them was really ready to let go yet. And that was just wrong, wasn’t it?

Suddenly, John was frightened, began to panic, tried to free himself from Paul’s possessive embrace.

“Mmmh… John?” he whimpered softly as said boy withdrew quickly, sitting up on his heels.

John wiped at his mouth, trying to get rid of any evidence, as he looked down at the confused figure splayed out in front of him, completely flustered with red lips and rosy cheeks and just so _fucking inviting_.  John was breathing in and out deeply as he tried to regain his composure. Without saying a word, he got up and brushed off the few leaves and patches of grass and dirt that were on his clothes. He held out a hand for Paul and helped him get up.

“We should go back, you know…” he muttered as they walked back to the place where they had left their belongings, hands securely shoved down into his pockets.

Paul nodded in silence but John sensed that Paul was feeling just as uncomfortable as he did.

While they were on their way back to school, now sitting on a bus, neither of them spoke a word, too ashamed to even look at each other. John chewed on his thumb as he was looking out of the window, lost in thoughts.

And although he had tried to avoid that thought as best as he could, he simply wasn’t able to ignore it any longer: he was falling for Paul – and he had to do something about it, for he might go insane with worry if he didn’t.


	16. Chapter 16

Cynthia Powell was always known for her good manners and excellent marks. She was a friendly, ambitious and bright young girl, who, although she lived under modest circumstances, was always well-dressed in her neat twin-sets and didn’t mind helping out her mother whenever she needed her, disregarding her own tasks.

She was engaged to a man named Barry and although she wasn’t madly in love with him, she thought that the eventual marriage would bring her many benefits. After all, who wouldn’t want to be married to a man who loved them and had a regular income?

Cynthia had just turned eighteen when she entered the art college in Liverpool and didn’t know many people from there yet. The first and best friend she found, was a girl named Phyl and together they went through thick and thin. Cynthia would always listen to Phyl’s problems and try to give her good advice and cheer her up and in return, Phyl was there for her whenever Cyn felt bad and needed a lift of her spirits. Soon enough, though, she would stop listening to her best friend’s warnings and advice _not_ to get to know a certain young man from her lettering class.

* 

It was a cold morning at the very beginning of September when Cynthia met John Lennon for the first time. The lesson had already started when John finally walked into the classroom, grumbling a half-hearted apology as to why he was almost twenty minutes late, and settled down on a chair next to Cynthia.

She couldn’t say that she liked him at first sight. Certainly not with that strange air surrounding him that made him seem like a Ted of the almost dangerous kind. He was wearing an old, shoddy coat, hiding his face beneath its collar. His hair was carefully combed back into a DA with too much pomade and he didn’t even bother to get out the things he needed to take notes.

Cynthia tried not to stare at him, but somehow she couldn’t refrain herself from sneaking a glance at him every time she thought he wasn’t looking at her direction or could impossibly notice it.  He _was_ an interesting fellow, granted, and her curiosity was stronger than her initial contempt towards him.  It wasn’t easy for her to listen to what her teacher was saying and she really tried her best to keep up with what was being written on the blackboard, but when she heard a soft hiss and felt a poke on her shoulder, she was unable to pretend any longer that she didn’t hear John.

“Hey, do you think you could lend me a pencil?” he asked quietly.

It wasn’t until now that Cynthia noticed the thick framed Buddy Holly glasses he had put on and she found herself smiling at him almost instantly.

“Sure, here you go,” she whispered back and adjusted her own glasses once, feeling almost self-conscious about them.

Determined to be a good student from now on, she looked back at the blackboard, but a second poke drew her attention back to the boy next to her.

“I’m John, by the way,” he said, giving her probably the most beautiful smile she had ever seen.

With slightly pink cheeks, she replied, “Cynthia.”

“Nice to meet you,” John said and then, suddenly, his attention wasn’t hers anymore, but the teacher’s.

Cynthia slowly let out her shaky breath as she turned her head away, trying to focus on the lesson.  Well, maybe he wasn’t that horrible, was he?

*

As the days went on, Cynthia found herself looking forward to her lettering classes – or more precisely, to seeing John. He was an interesting person; funny with a sometimes cruel sense of humour, but actually, he was of a very soft nature. It didn’t take her long to figure this out and it took even less time until she started seeing him more regularly. Ever since John had played _Ain’t She Sweet_ for her on his guitar when they both had been left alone in a classroom and Cynthia had actually wanted to leave, the mutual feeling between the two of them had begun to grow. Sometimes, she came to see him in-between classes during little breaks, and at lunchtime, John would sometimes join her and Phyl.

Often enough, she had seen him meeting-up with two other boys who carried guitars with them. Clearly, neither of them went to college; they were too young, anyway. One of them couldn’t be older than fifteen, perhaps he was even younger, and the other had a round, pretty baby face.

When Cynthia caught them sneaking around on the yard, she noticed that John always kept a safe distance to the pretty-faced boy, whereas the other got all of his attention. John must have been feeling uncomfortable around the other boy and it seemed as if he even despised him to a certain degree… She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but from what she saw, the animosity he was probably feeling was quite obvious to Cynthia. Her only explanation for why the boy was allowed to tag along, was that he must have been the younger one’s friend. She felt bad for the boy, because he seemed sort of… _disappointed_ , maybe even sad when he was around John. He was always quiet and looked at him with a somewhat hurt expression, but John – thick as he was – chose to ignore it. He was barely talking to him and paid as little attention to him as possible. Of course she would have felt the same way if this had happened to her and Phyl if a third party suddenly showed up…

Still, Cynthia had already learned not to ask John if something was wrong.

_ Push him and he’ll retreat, will avoid giving answers and maybe even ignore you. _

That was what she had learned very quickly when she had got to know him better.

* 

Determined to get together with John properly, while completely abandoning the fleeting thought of being engaged to another man, she changed her neat looks in order to awaken John’s primal interest in her. She had once heard how he had made a remark about a blonde girl, who looked like Bardot to his poor eyes and thus she concluded that he fancied girls with light hair and wore their make-up and clothes like the sex goddess herself.

Although she had felt utterly stupid and ridiculous when she had dyed her dark hair to blonde and had bought new tighter clothes, she felt much better when John gave her admiring looks, obviously impressed by her new style. The effort had definitely been worth it. I t was only a matter of time until John finally asked her out – which happened in the first week of October, to be precise.

It happened at a party Cynthia had dreaded to attend at first, as she hadn’t been in the mood to be among people and enjoy herself. The reason for that had been that she hadn’t seen John for a while in college, because he had skipped classes several times. Needless to say, she was more than surprised to find him in some dark corner at the party. Funnily enough, though, the pretty-faced boy, whose name was Paul as she had learned quickly, was there as well. She thought that this kind of party was rather inappropriate for such a young lad, especially because he was only fifteen and thus the youngest amongst the visitors. She wondered how he had managed to get in at all and if his parents weren’t worried about where he might have been. As soon as John approached her, though, she shrugged off all her concerns and thoughts about the boy.

“Well, look who’s here! Miss Powell! What are you doing here at such a sinister place?” he asked with a silky voice as he finally stood next to her, quickly closing any space left between them.

She tried not to smile too widely, but John’s wicked grin was contagious.

“Phyl convinced me to come along with her to distract myself,” Cyn replied truthfully, feeling how John shifted closer, leaned heavily against her body. He slowly pushed her back against the wall behind her, his beery breath grazing her blushing cheeks. He placed one hand next to her head, keeping her in place and smiled at her.

“Is that so? And may I ask you what keeps that pretty little head of yours so occupied?”

Cynthia’s face went even redder under his intense stare and averted her gaze as she replied in all honesty with, “You…”

The corners of John’s mouth curled up into a delicate grin and he leaned down, close to her ear.

“Come with me,” he whispered, giving her ear shell a quick but gentle bite, “I know a place where we’re alone and won’t be disturbed.”

To encourage his request, he moved his hips not-so-discreetly against hers, pressing the slight bulge that had begun to form in his trousers against her thigh. His hand hitched up slowly the soft fabric of her skirt and caressed the flesh underneath his fingertips slowly, making Cynthia gasp. Feeling excitement at the prospect rushing through her whole system, she quickly nodded her head.

John took her hand, glancing over his shoulder quickly with an odd expression, and led her out of the room.

Just before she was out of the door, Cynthia looked back into the direction John had just glanced at and found Paul staring right back at her, mouth pressed into a tight, grim line, his eyes full with something – however absurd it sounded to her – which she recognised as sheer anger, mixed with jealousy.

*

“John, please… Oh God…”

“I’m almost there,” he panted heavily above her, with his face scrunched up into a concentrated expression. “You, too?”

“Not yet,” Cynthia replied and moaned loudly as John’s fingers suddenly began to help her reaching her orgasm.

When it finally hit her, she felt nothing but pure bliss, happy about the fact that it was John who made her feel this way. Said boy collapsed on top of her only a few moments later, his breathing ragged and skin soaked with sweat. He kissed her jawline tenderly and nuzzled her throat with a content sigh. Both lay still for a while, her hand caressing his hair, and enjoyed the afterglow of their first time together.

“John?”

“Mh?” He looked up to her with a groggy smile and she kissed him again.

“When do you have to be back?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “I suppose we’ve got to leave soon. Stu will be back and we don’t want him to have to sleep on the floor, do we?”

She giggled as she buried her face into his soft hair. “No, not really. But I was wondering, you know…”

“About what?”

“About this boy… From the party…”

“Who?” The change of the tone in John’s voice was unmistakable and Cynthia didn’t really like it.

“Paul… I mean, why was he there? He’s far too young to be at such a party and I doubt his parents allowed him to go there.” She didn’t really know why these thoughts had come back, but now that all the pent-up sexual tension had subsided, her mind drifted back to Paul who had given her such a sour look.

“No, his parents didn’t allow it,” John muttered and lifted himself up from the bed. Cynthia took the blanket and covered her body with it, suddenly ill at ease.

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s my stepbrother, all right? Our parents have gone out this evening and his brother is staying at a friend’s house. I didn’t want to leave him all alone at home, so I took him with me, if that’s okay with you!”

“You… He… He’s your stepbrother? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, why didn’t you ask me?” John spat as he put on his black shirt and reached for his trousers.

“I-I didn’t know he was…” she stuttered, trying to sort out her thoughts, “Why did you leave him at the party if you’ve got to look after him?”

John’s head jerked around, the love and tender features completely gone. “Don’t tell me what the fuck I’ve got to do, Cyn. Ever. Now put on your clothes, we got to go.”

She complied without any further questions, although she gritted her teeth at John’s stubbornness. She had broken her own rule: never to bother him with questions or to demand answers, and what had she just done? Cynthia would have loved to smack her forehead, but then John would have given her even stranger looks and she already felt stupid enough.

They left Stu’s flat and walked back in silence to the next bus station. John seemed all of a sudden so distant and far away that Cynthia began to worry if she should have rather forgotten about the whole Paul topic. Her heart sank when the lights of the bus flickered through the slightly foggy night and it didn’t make her feel any better when John shoved her just very lightly, but persistently towards the stopping vehicle.

“I guess I’ll see you at college then.”

He nodded his head with an indifferent expression and placed a quick peck upon her forehead, lips cold and pressed into a tight line. “Good night.”

“Night…” Cyn looked at him once more, hoping to find the same affection from earlier, but when John turned around and walked away quickly, she knew that she had most likely fucked things up.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins right after the cemetery scene, so please don't be confused. :)

The bus ride back to school was the most bizarre thing that had ever happened to Paul, especially under these circumstances and even more so after what they had done at the cemetery, what  _ he _ had done.  He was so fucking stupid, so bloody daft. Why the hell had he kissed John? He was probably his best friend and Paul had most likely fucked things royally up.

As Paul glanced sideways at the person next to him, he felt almost hurt that John was completely ignoring him, any familiarity from earlier gone. Paul felt his whole body stiffen with panic the more he thought about what had happened and what might follow.  But why – this was the most important question and the crux of this whole mess – why had he kissed him? It was a queer thing to do and Paul was far from being one; so far that he started to question if he might be  the king of poofters after all, just not aware of it yet. Certainly, he only felt that way about John, whatever  _ that _ was. He didn’t want to snog the living daylights out of George or Ivan, Christ, no! They were friends, almost like brothers, but less annoying than Mike.

But John – wasn’t he the same? Maybe. But as for the Lennon boy, there was,  had _always_ been that indescribable bond and perhaps even attraction which had sometimes caused some sleepless nights for Paul. And it made him go slightly mad. Mad with worry, mad with disgust, mad with the desire to be around him. John – an extremely irritating specimen who also made Paul’s poor heart skip a beat like no other.

So, was he queer? Was he secretly queer for his  _ friend _ ? Paul didn’t know, he simply didn’t. Maybe he would wake up one day to find that he would rather fuck a bloke’s hairy arse than a girl and what then…?

He groaned softly, head aching from all the worry. John glanced sideways at him, muttering “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Paul replied, still avoiding John’s eyes.

The latter quickly nodded and continued looking out of the window, staring at anything outside in this bleary world but him.

No matter how hard Paul tried, he could never quite figure out what John was thinking, especially not in such a moment and he wondered if he ever would.

*

Seeing how much Paul was emotionally involved in his weird relationship to John, how attached he was to him, the next few weeks brought him much more pain than he would have ever liked to admit. John was obviously growing fond of George now and allowed him to come along when they were still meeting up during their lunch breaks – which became less frequent, anyway. John had grown the unpleasant habit to ignore Paul as much as he could, to act completely  indifferent  towards him and thus he paid all his attention to George who bathed in it with the greatest joy. Paul’s agitation experienced new heights the less he got to see John, even at home. Sometimes, he stayed away for a couple of nights, ‘kipping at Stu’s’ as he liked to call it, and it drove Paul mad with jealousy.

But things had taken another turn, a new twist when Paul had noticed that John had started seeing a girl. Usually, he wouldn’t have wasted a single thought on this subject, but due to his utterly confusing and even sometimes terrifying feelings that he held for his friend locked inside his heart, the green-eyed monster kept him company almost every day and poisoned his heart with dark feelings as it softly whispered cruelties into his ear, mocking him with every venomous word.

And  _ fuck _ , he longed to be near John, found himself yearning for his company, for those quiet and very peaceful moments they had shared at some point in his bed, when it had only been  _ them _ . When everything had still been fine between them. When a simple kiss hadn’t put up a fucking barrier between them.

Sometimes, though, Paul wondered if John wasn’t just playing another little mind game with him. Since he knew that John couldn’t stand Val for some odd reason, Paul brought her name up as often as he could when the other boy was around, only to see the utter resentment in his eyes and the slightly disgusted sneer plastered on his lips.

Only these little reactions nourished Paul’s hope that John might still care about him – in what way that might have ever been.

*

One day, he was introduced to the blonde girl whose name was Cynthia. George and Paul had come once again to play some songs together with John (and God only knew why Paul did this to himself – must have probably been a sick fascination with suffering) and this girl was sitting next to him, eyeing the boys curiously.

George flashed a charming smile at her, probably already creaming his briefs, that poor boy, whereas Paul only managed to croak a rather awkward “Hello." He knew that John was watching him attentively, probably waiting for him to say or do something stupid, but Paul was now the one to ignore him.

Fuck that Lennon and his mind games.

*

A few days later, it seemed to Paul as if everything was going to go back to normal again. John flashed that cheeky grin he had missed at him; he talked to him and didn’t punish him with silence any longer. Only the physical closeness wasn’t the same again, but for now, Paul was happy with whatever he got from John.  It was quite a surprise to him when John asked him to go with him to a party from his year at college, but he didn’t complain. He was slightly worried about his age, however, but his older friend reassured him that everything would be fine.

And it was.

Until he and John entered the room and Paul found himself all alone in a room full of strangers with no John near in sight.

Wherever Paul went, John was missing, lost without a trace. After an hour of searching and sitting all alone in a corner, being eyed with curious looks, Paul finally spotted him at the other side of the room.

His heart made a leap as he was on his way to John, moving swiftly through he crowd of drunk college students, but as soon as he noticed who was with his friend, he came to an abrupt halt. Cynthia was there as well. From the way they were looking at each other, Paul could tell that they weren’t just having a nice chat about the lovely weather, no, definitely not. John’s body language gave him quite a good impression of what he wanted from the girl and somehow, it pained him to watch these two together like this.

_ What were you thinking? Christ, you act like a jealous bird _ , he chided himself, but it wasn’t helping him in the slightest. He simply couldn’t conceal his current feelings as John suddenly shot a glance into his direction, right at him.

He fucking  _ knew _ . He fucking _knew_ what he was doing to Paul. He was bloody well aware of it and was doing it all on fucking purpose.

Bitterness took hold of Paul’s feelings and froze his heart. Well then, if things were like that, he couldn’t do anything about it, could he? Except for trying to ignore the emotional turmoil in his heart and mind. And since both things were giving him a hell of a time, he decided to numb either of them.

From some friends’ experiences and tales, he knew that the usual thing to do in such a situation was to sedate one’s heart and mind and anything else that caused emotional pain with alcohol. In case of heartache, the bottle of beer was one’s best friend, wasn’t it? But was it real heartache? Paul dreaded to think of it in that kind of way, because it would never go without romantic connotation.  He decided to shrug off all his doubts and fears, to shove those foolish feelings aside and reached for the first bottle of many. He could always deal with his problems later on.

*

After having been eventually sent out by one of the students, Paul tried to find his way back home – all by himself, as John had left the fucking party at some point. He was drunk like he had never been before, could barely walk without help, but at least he didn’t feel any silent ache in his poor heart anymore. _Mission accomplished_.

He managed to enter the right bus, but unfortunately got off one station too early.  The inner conflict of his emotions might have disappeared for a while, but was replaced by a queasy feeling which made his stomach twist and turn until he felt the need to throw up.  Paul sat down on the pavement and buried his face in his hands, inhaling the cold air of the night deeply and slowly.  Fuck, everything was spinning and his body was beginning to ache, muscles tense and disobeying him.

He wasn’t sure where exactly he was right now, but he feared what his father might say if he ever found out where he had been and especially what he had done – after all, John had lied to him when he had told Jim and Julia where they had wanted to go. A student party, yes. But he had left out the few important bits that this party only served for the guests to get drunk and eventually fuck somebody. Their parents had thought that teachers would have been present. Paul, though, had had his doubts that Julia hadn’t seen right through her wicked son. Her fucking miserable son who had left him all alone and had run off with that girl.

Paul loved wallowing in self–pity.

_ Oh shut up, Paul _ , he sighed and got back on his feet, continued his way back home, staggering along the street on unstable legs.

When his home was finally near in sight, Paul thanked God and his mother Mary that he had finally arrived.

Fumbling for his keys with clumsy, numb fingers, he had to give it a few tries until he managed to open the door. It was difficult to be silent when one was roaring drunk, but Paul tried his best. He stumbled over only every second step and accidentally collided with the bathroom’s door, but all in all, he managed his little journey to the bathroom without any serious damage. His nose might have started to bleed, but that was something which he could fix.

While pressing a piece of toilet paper against his violated nose, Paul opened the door and slid into his bedroom. He groaned as his tired body finally made contact with the soft mattress. Closing his eyes, he would have almost drifted off into a dreamless, but nonetheless peaceful slumber, if a voice hadn’t startled him.

“Where  _ the fuck _ have you been?”

John. He was here. He was awake. He had been  _ waiting _ .

Paul flinched slightly at the sudden flash of light as John flicked on the lamp on his bedside table.

“What do you care?” Paul hissed in reply, turning his head quickly, so that he was now facing the wall. Crap, his tissue was beginning to get soaked in his blood.

“What do I care? You’re still younger than me and I would have had to hear all the shit from your dad if something had happened to you! Why the fuck did you leave and didn’t just stay there?”

“Says the right one,” Paul grumbled, clicking his tongue.

“What?!”

“You left with that Cynthia girl, you soddin’ bastard. You left me all alone without even saying a bloody word to me and I just can’t believe that you’re such a selfish, dick–driven wanker! Christ, I hate you!”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, John got up from his bed and walked over to Paul’s, kneeling down in front of it. “You’re drunk, mate.”

“I’m not.”

“How many beers have you had then?”

“I stopped counting at six, all right?!”

“God, Paul, you’re… You’re… Why did you do that?”

John reached out for his friend and tried to make him face him, but as soon as his hand lay atop of Paul’s hip, the latter jerked around, swatting the hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” he snarled and caught the horror and worry in John’s eyes for the first time.

“What? What’s wrong?” he snapped, but John didn’t answer immediately. He reached out for Paul’s face and touched his nose with his fingertips very carefully, and yet the younger boy winced at the slight pain.

“What happened…?” John asked softly as he examined all the dried blood on Paul’s skin. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, spit into it and wiped away the dark crusts.

“Someone punched me. Nothing serious,” Paul lied; he was curious about John’s reaction.

The elder suddenly stopped in his movements, eyes wide and mouth agape. He was visibly shocked and Paul was satisfied as he saw the guilt in John’s eyes. It was difficult to suppress the mischievous little grin that wanted to show itself, but Paul managed to shrug it off.

“ _Punched_  you? Why would someone do that? Who was it?” Now John’s hand wandered down to cup Paul’s face. “Tell me, Paul, and I’ll beat up that wanker who did that to you.”

“Well,” Paul began, taking a deep breath, and freed himself from John’s grip, “It certainly wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t left with that girl. Was it worth it, John? Did you get to fuck her good?”

“Paul…” John warned.

“Did she spread her legs for you, hm?”

“Shut up!”

“No, I won’t, because I fucking hate your little mind ga–”

_ Silence . _   


Nothing but silence filled the room. Time stood still, while Paul was staring at John with wide eyes and John stared right back at him. Their lips were connected and neither dared to move.  Then, John cupped Paul’s face once again, this time with both hands, and closed his eyes. He opened his mouth slightly and leaned in for a harsher and perhaps even slightly bruising kiss. He let the tip of his tongue trail along Paul’s bottom lip, demanding entrance, while the younger brought his hands up to John’s neck and hair, loving the feeling of shivering skin and silky hair underneath his fingertips as he caressed him.

As Paul allowed John’s tongue to enter, the kiss grew more desperate and demanding very quickly. Clutching helplessly at each other’s bodies, John pressed Paul down onto his mattress, keeping him in place with his weight. Their teeth were clacking against each other, saliva began to pool at the corners of their mouths, but neither really minded. Paul tugged at John’s hair and shirt, greedy for more – more contact, more skin, more friction, more John.

A lewd moan bubbled up in his throat as John started to suck just lightly on his tongue, beginning to switch between gentle thrusting and licking. Paul’s briefs felt suddenly too tight and he would have surely made a mess in them just right then and there if John hadn’t suddenly pulled away.  He looked down at Paul, his eyes dark and glassy.

“Go to sleep now,” he murmured with a raspy voice against Paul’s moist lips, letting his tongue trail over them one more time, deliberately slow, before he withdrew completely and walked back to his bed, wiping his mouth dry on his sleeve.

With brightly red flushed cheeks, Paul tried to regain his control over his ragged breathing and frantically beating heart.  What on earth had just happened?  His skin was tingling with arousal, felt too tight and too hot, making the very thought of sleeping almost seem impossible now, while his head was spinning with dizziness.

When John switched out the lamp without a word, Paul was still staring at the ceiling. He still could feel the other’s weight against his body and still could feel his breath ghosting over his skin, his fingertips pressing against his cheeks, his tongue tasting him.

“John…?” Paul then croaked, his voice somewhat hoarse. When no reply came back from the other side of the room, he decided to continue, clearing his throat once. “I lied, you know… No–one ever beat me up. I… I ran against the bathroom door.”

Paul’s heart sank when he had still not heard a reply coming from John, only deafening silence. But then the rustle of covers and a soft snicker emanated from John’s direction and Paul already wondered if he was imagining it, his heart picking up its former frantic pace.

“I know,” John then said and fell silent again.

With these two simple words, a pregnant silence fell between them, making Paul unable to voice any other thoughts, though it was all he wished for; he needed to talk.

But not now.

They could always do that later.

Not now, no.

John wouldn’t let him.


	18. Chapter 18

Well, his plan had worked just perfectly fine, hadn’t it? Fucking fine. So fine that he had told all his good intentions to fuck off kindly and had bloody kissed Paul.

 _Kissed_.

Had kissed those plump, inviting lips and had even _enjoyed_ it as well. And what a kisser that McCartney boy was – much better than Cynthia, who was all soft and shy. With Paul, though, the force behind their kiss had almost been too destructive. But what exactly would have been destroyed? John’s last spark of hope that he didn’t feel, didn’t want more of Paul than just a simple friendship? That he was _attracted_ to that little baby-faced bastard?

Most likely.

John was scared, scared out of his mind that he might have turned completely queer for his friend now. He had enjoyed the little shag with Cyn at Stu’s flat, and yet Paul, with his forlorn expression of utter betrayal when he and Cynthia had left the party, had always been on his mind. John had been worried about Paul and the moment he had dropped Cyn at the bus station, realisation had slapped him across the face that he had left his friend all alone at a place he hadn’t been familiar with and even with a bunch of drunk strangers.

It had been a terrible hour of uncertainty when he had gone back to the party, but hadn’t been able to find his Paul.

To put it bluntly, John had been worried sick and had almost punched Paul the moment he had finally returned home – had almost punched him out of sheer anger and relief. But the worry had returned just shortly after, the moment he had noticed the younger’s bloody nose and how the smell of alcohol had seemed pour out of his body. Anything could have happened to Paul and John would have never forgiven himself if Paul had been harmed. So maybe the kiss had only been a reaction to the chaos of his feelings... Right?

The more John struggled to find out why, for fuck’s sake, he had done it, the more he confused himself and eventually ended up in a fit of desperation which made it impossible for other people to approach him, much to their annoyance. John always kept a safe eye on Paul, watched him and tried to figure out how he might deal with the whole situation, which was quite a mess. But the boy’s charming smile and nonchalant mask never slipped, even when he was alone with John and it infuriated the latter even more, fed his frustration from day to day.

Whenever they were talking, John just wanted to yell at him ‘Fuck you, Paul!’, and shake him until he would get his common sense back. Those insecurities were gnawing at him, made him feel exposed, but above all, vulnerable. Who knew if Paul wasn’t going to use it against him someday? Certainly, he could say something as well, but hadn’t he himself actually been the one to initiate a proper French kiss?

* 

October the ninth was a Wednesday, a rather cold and windy day.

When John woke up in the morning, now a whole year older, he was shivering and freezing and in a moody state of mind. He hadn’t slept well the night before, mostly because of the wind outside, but during the night, the heater must have stopped working as well and so their room was ice cold when he awoke.

“Fucking hell,” he cursed through clenched teeth, hopping around in the room as he gathered warmer clothes. Paul in his bed was still sound asleep, but visibly shuddering underneath his blanket. John watched him, frowning, and walked over to his bed. He touched the tip of the other’s nose with the back of his hand; it was as cold as the temperature in their room and John clicked is tongue in disapproval. The boy was about to get a cold, John thought and took his own blanket and draped it carefully over Paul’s so as not to wake him up. There was still about half an hour of sleep left for him, so he might as well continue without being awoken so brutally, right?

Meanwhile, John fought a bitter battle against the cold water in the bathroom and got quickly dressed in a thick jumper and dark trousers. After he was finished, he went back into his room and settled down on his own bed, not quite knowing what to do now. It was his birthday, so shouldn’t he have been greeted by presents and smiling faces the moment he had opened his eyes?

With a sigh, he took out his glasses and stared blankly out of the window, watched Mother Nature playing her cruel games with the world outside. The leaves on the trees had turned yellow and brown, looked quite beautiful in their composition, but the horrible wind did a great job with stripping down the trees until practically nothing was left of their golden splendour.

It was going to be just another dull day for John, he knew it. Just as dull as this weather.

“Mmh...”

Finally, Paul was about to wake up. John turned his head and watched him, how he wrinkled his nose first, stretched his body and then a frown ghosted across his face.

“Morning,” John said.

“Mornin’...” Paul mumbled sleepily and rubbed at his tired eyes. “Fuck, it’s cold, isn’t it?”

“Is it? I thought it was sweltering.”

Paul scowled at him and pushed his and John’s blanket off of him. For a second, it seemed as if he was utterly confused about the two blankets covering him and John had to look away in order not to show him the faint flush in his cheeks. But then he noticed how Paul stood up from his bed and came closer, carrying the blanket in his hands.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, shyly, and leaned forward to cup John’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Thank you,” Paul repeated with a sweet smile now that John was really looking and listening to him.

The latter simply nodded his head, swallowing down the panic that was creeping up his throat. And then he felt soft lips placed upon his forehead, a sweet and very innocent little kiss, accompanied by a light blush and a goofy grin on Paul’s face – and then he was gone, had sauntered off to the bathroom.

With his heart still beating furiously as if he was an animal on a hunt, John fell back onto his pillow and screwed his eyes shut.

Something between them had started and it was too late to stop it now, wasn’t it? If John had listened to what his heart had been whispering to him for quite some time now, he would have already known the answer – as terrifying as it might have been for him.

*

Since the very moment John had kissed Paul, the latter knew that John felt the same attraction. He would have been either extraordinarily stupid or ignorant if he hadn’t noticed it as well. Paul still could recall the feeling of utter relief, as if a hundred tons of guilt, doubts and the occasional questioning of his sanity had been lifted off of his shoulders.

So what? Maybe he had a slight and definitely _not_ serious crush on his friend... and stepbrother. Wasn’t it a usual thing to happen in other families, anyway?

Granted, it was unusual for boys to happen but that wasn’t the point. All Paul needed, was the reassurance that it was okay and that the feeling was perhaps of a mutual kind. It was only a slight crush and one would be mad for not fancying John! These feelings would disappear eventually and everything would go back to normal.

He also still liked girls and still found himself pining for Val’s company, but it happened more often that he found himself yearning for John’s presence instead, his contagious smile and his soft lips perhaps, too.

So when he kissed John’s forehead after having found himself covered underneath the latter’s blanket, he considered it as the right thing to do. It was just a peck on an unsuspicious body part and Paul justified it with John kissing his neck when he had thought that Paul had been asleep. John had owed him something and God only knew how often he had taken advantage of Paul’s unconscious body. Besides, Paul wanted to test him, wanted to know how far he could go until John would do something about it – for good or bad.

Paul hadn’t forgotten that it was John’s birthday and he was well aware of the fact that John would probably be surrounded by his friends at school today, which mean that he would get less time to spend with him.

With a deep sigh, he watched how John opened his presents in the living room before they had to leave for school. His dad and Julia had given John a new pencil set and a book by Jules Verne. (“It’s something different than reading good old Lewis all day long, eh?”) Mike and Paul had saved their money for the latest Little Richard album, which lit John’s face up in sheer joy as soon as he saw what they had got him.

“Thanks, mates,” he smiled at them.

Paul’s cheeks began to blush in a light rosy tone at John’s smile and it seemed as if John’s gaze was lingering for a split second longer on Paul’s face than on Mike.

As much as Paul would have loved to sit with John on the bus, he chose to shove aside his yearnings and sat down next to Val, who took his hand with a coy smile and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Paul grinned stupidly at that, feeling slightly lightheaded, but made the mistake to shoot a side-glance at John and Mike who were sitting on the seats right next to them.

While Michael winked encouraginly at Paul, John’s expression turned sour and Paul could have sworn that John would have tried to strangle him right then and there. And yet, Paul didn’t allow himself to have his mood spoilt just because of that.

It was going to be a good day.

*

What Paul didn’t know, though, was that John would have rather killed the girl next to him with his glare; a slow and painful death seemed only appropriate enough. Anything was fine as long as she kept her hands off of the boy and stopped molesting him. Who was she to kiss him, anyway? If one person should be allowed to snog Paul silly in public, then it was –

John averted his gaze from the silently giggling lovebirds next to him and stared out of the window.

No, he wasn’t going to let his mood be spoilt just because of that.

It was his birthday, for fuck’s sake.

*

As soon as they arrived at their school and college, John was greeted by Cynthia and her prudish friend Phyl. They both had made a cake for him and Cyn held a tiny present in her hands, looking nervous and yet excited.

“Hello, love,” she greeted him and received a passionate kiss in return, which was almost on the verge of obscene, sucking the very breath out of her lungs.

And why did John put up this show?

Yeah, okay. Maybe he was indeed a little bit jealous and _maybe_ he wanted to show Paul that he knew how to have a good time without him and could indeed enjoy himself with the right people. Right people with _tits_.

However, it did have the effect John had hoped for – Paul’s stupid grin was wiped off of his face instantly. The intentional collision with John’s shoulder as he had passed him, though, had been unnecessary.

But the grim look on Paul’s chubby face had been reward enough for John to satisfy his sick joy of hurting the McCartney boy. He took Cyn’s hand and walked together with her to their first class this morning, feeling much better now and much less pissed off than before.

Yes, it was going to be a good day.


	19. Chapter 19

During lunch break, John was sitting together with Cyn, Stu and Phyl and they ate Cynthia’s chocolate cake whilst chatting animatedly.

From time to time, John looked around, scanned the yard for a familiar round baby face. Whenever he  _thought _ that he had spotted said face, he felt a wave of disappointment washing over him as soon as he noticed that it wasn’t the person he was hoping to see.  Lost in thought, he didn’t notice how the others had turned quiet. John looked up from his piece of half-eaten cake and was met by three pairs of curious eyes looking right back at him.

“What?” he asked, but fell silent as soon as he heard someone behind him clearing his throat.

_ Well, well, here we go… _

“Hi John,” Paul said, his cheeks slightly flushed. Being faced with the general silence among the other four students and their expectant looks resting upon him, Paul smiled sheepishly and shifted his weight, feeling uneasy and looking extremely awkward.

“Good afternoon, Paul,” John greeted back with an exasperated sigh, “Looking for something in particular?”

“No, I… er…” Paul swallowed, “I thought we could talk, you know. I-I’ve got something to –”

“Why wouldn’t you want to say it here, Paul? This is a free country.”

“I, well, I…” Paul fidgeted nervously with his shirt, kicked a tiny pebble, avoided John’s stare. And the latter enjoyed every bit of Paul’s nervousness and drank in that sight.

“It’s private.”

John’s lips curled up into a grin. “Private? We’re here in all privacy. So spit it out or fuck off.”

Stuart snorted and quickly looked into a different direction; Cynthia gave Paul a sympathetic smile, but averted her gaze as well, whereas Phyl just kept staring at him curiously.

With his eyes still fixed upon Paul’s awkward figure, John grew impatient. “Well?”

“Listen, I’d really rather do this alone with you, because –”

“Because  _ what _ , Macca? Christ, you’re acting like a silly bird. I’m not your boyfriend. Piss off.”

Paul grew pale at John’s words and only looked at him, speechless. John chewed on his lower lip; he knew he had gone too far, but it was too late to take it back now. He cringed inwardly when he noticed hurt flickering across Paul’s soft features, the ever so friendly big eyes turning cold. They really were a mirror to his soul, John thought to himself.

“Fine then,” Paul snapped with ruddy cheeks, his tone harsh, and then threw something in front of John’s feet. “Fuck you, Lennon!”  And with that, he turned around and stormed away which made John feel even worse for what he had said.

Stu just kept on laughing quietly to himself. “What a child. Why do you waste your time with that nancy boy?”

John wasn’t sure if Paul was able to hear it but from the way he slowed down for a second and then dashed off, he was certain that he indeed could.

“John?” Cynthia asked with a whisper, “Is he…? You know… A  _ queer _ ?” She blushed at her own words and cleared her throat as though it could erase those filthy words from her mouth.

John’s head jerked around, his eyes narrow. “What? What makes you think such nonsense?”

Cynthia avoided his glare by scrutinising her shirt, picking imaginary lint from it.  “Well, you said something about boyfriends and stuff and so I assumed, well…”

“That we’re queer for each other.”

She lifted her head with wide, shocked eyes. “Oh God,  _ no _ ! I know that you’re not into men but maybe  _ Paul _ is.”

John’s nostrils quivered with anger; he could hear his own heartbeat clear and loud hammering in his ears.

“Well, he certainly acts like he’s your sweetheart,” Stu commented dryly and immediately earned a rather painful punch on his arm.

“Listen,” John said as he tried to stay calm, although he was fuming underneath the surface. “Paul is not a queer, got it? We’re just friends and he happens to like me. I’m his role model, all right? I don’t see what the fuck is wrong with it.”

“Nothing, but he’s always with you, John. He’s like a bleedin’ shadow, you know, and I think that’s beyond normal,” Stu argued matter-of-factly and took a sip from his water.

“So what? His friend George is even worse,” John grunted, “You can’t get rid of him, he’s like a bloodhound. Like the little creeper that he is, he even stalks Cyn and me when we go out.”

“That’s not the point!” Cynthia suddenly piped up, irritated. “So you say Paul is not into boys?” John nodded with his lips pressed into a tight, grim line, “Fine then. I believe you.”

He took her hand and squeezed it with a grateful smile.

“Don’t you want to see what he left here?” Phyl then asked and pointed at the small present lying on the ground next to John’s chair.

He looked at it and was immediately reminded of Paul’s hurt expression which caused his heart to drop as he reached for the present, guilt creeping up his spine. Carefully, he opened it while the others watched him attentively.

“What is it?” Stu asked after a little while, but sounded rather bored.

“Guitar stuff,” John mumbled while he put the contents on a table. Paul had got him new guitar strings, a plectrum with ‘I dig Elvis!’ printed on it and… a chocolate bar.  As John turned the bar in his hand, he remembered the day he had nicked sweets for Paul in that shop. Involuntarily, Paul’s smiling face came into his mind, his _beautiful_ smiling face… Fucking hell.

“Well then,” Stuart began and took the guitar strings in order to scrutinise them, “he possibly couldn’t have got you more heterosexual presents, I suppose. Except for the chocolate, but I’m willing to forget about that.”

* 

John had promised himself that as soon as school was over, he would try to talk to Paul. But when he could neither spot him at the bus station nor on the bus itself; slight panic got hold of him and made him wonder where the fuck Paul had gone off to.  He met George, though, whose sour expression was indication enough that Paul must have told him about their short encounter.

“School was over for him earlier today,” he explained after John had asked him where Paul was. He shot a death glare at him before he sat down with a morose grunt. “But I want to know what you said to him, you git!”

“What?” John asked, taken aback by George’s tone.

The latter furrowed his bushy brows, giving John his best _Are-you-fucking-joking?_ -look . “He was upset when he came back. Didn’t you like his gift, or why did you act like a first class arsehole?”

“Hey, I di–”

“Oh shut up, John!” The much younger boy interrupted him without hesitation, seeming so much older now, “I’ve never seen Paul so angry and disappointed! I don’t know if he wants to see your ugly face now, but you better go to him and apologise for the crap that came out of your gob.”

“What exactly did he tell you?” John looked at him with suspicion.

“Enough to know that you’re a wanker, and too little to figure out which particular part of your tirade hurt him.”

John looked at the fourteen-year-old who was standing up for his friend – something which he himself had completely neglected to do. A small voice was hissing at him what a stupid, backstabbing arse he had been, muttering silent curses and insults at him. Guilt filled his heart and made it throb with regret.

“Fuck,” he uttered under his breath and sat down on the seat next to George, who shifted away from him.

“Go to him when you’re back at home,” he said coolly, turning to look out of the window, rewarding John with an icy silence for the rest of the bus ride.

He didn’t feel like telling him that Paul had actually started to sniffle into his sleeve, using it as a handkerchief. On one hand, he wanted save the last few remaining bits of Paul’s dignity and keep up the illusion that he was still in possession of his genitalia – ever since Paul had met John, he had given the impression that he must have lost his balls somewhere between trying to impress the elder Lennon and bickering with him like an old married couple.

On the other hand, the few pieces of information he had given John seemed to have sunk in to the latter’s thick skull. John looked utterly miserable, face twisted up in guilt – and that was all George asked for.  When it was time for him to leave, John stopped him by grabbing his arm.

“Thanks, Harrison.”

“For what…?”

John shrugged his shoulders, offering a tentative smile. “For making things clear, I suppose.”

George arched an eyebrow and freed his arm from the other’s grip.

“Well, fuck you, John. Sort that out with Paul, but don’t get me involved. I don’t really know why he cares so much about you, but if you fuck it up with him, I’ll make you regret it.”

“And how would you do that?”

George shrugged, but grinned at him against all odds. “I don’t know, but he’s like a brother to me and no-one fucks around with my family.”

“All right, son,” John replied with a matching grin.

* 

As soon as the bus reached his stop, John rushed out of the vehicle and back home, ignoring the neighbours who happened to greet him as he passed them.

The front door flew open and he ran upstairs to his room.

Empty.

Paul wasn’t there.

Mike passed John since he was on his way downstairs, absentmindedly mumbling “Hi there.”

“Michael! Mike!  _ Wait _ !”

The boy came to an abrupt halt, his foot barely touching the first step.

“Have you seen Paul?”

“Oh you mean Mr. Moody? He’s outside in the fields, thank God for that. I think he’s watching the birds with this weird book Dad got him last Christmas.”

“And where would that be?” John asked, but Mike just shook his head.

“Somewhere behind the house. Why don’t you just go outside and look for him?”

_ As if he wanted to see me right now _ , John thought bitterly, but nevertheless pushed Mike out of the way and stumbled down the stairs.

*

Paul was sitting somewhere in the high grass on the field behind his house. The grass and the bushes protected him from view and thus kept away unwelcome visitors like John, whom he wanted to avoid at all cost.

He was trying to watch the birds with his binoculars and his little ornithology book on his lap, but his mind always drifted off to previous unpleasant scenarios which made it simply impossible to concentrate on anything. Paul had been terribly upset, still was somehow, but he wasn’t quite sure why. Was it because John had ridiculed him in front of the others or was it because of Stuart’s snide assumption that he was a –

Most likely both and a hundred other reasons were to blame.

He laid down on the ground and stared up into the blue sky, wishing he was somewhere else, somewhere far away from all these confusing feelings, far away from John.

“Paul? Paul where are you?”

The familiar voice startled him. Why was he –

“Paul? Please answer me! Paul…!”

He propped himself up and allowed himself to glance in the direction the voice was coming from. John was running around on the field, changing his path every few metres.

Paul kept still while he watched the other who continued calling out his name. He didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t want to be faced with his terribly evil personality.

“What the fuck do you want?! Just piss off!” he then heard himself yelling back and quickly shut himself up.  _ Well done, Paul. _

John’s body spun around, surprised by Paul’s sudden angry outburst, and then, before Paul was given the time to comprehend what was happening, he ran into his direction.

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck... _   


“Paul,” John breathed as he finally faced the younger in his flustered state.

Paul turned away from him and kept his eyes fixed down to the ground. “Go away,” he said while trying to stay composed.

“I… Oh Paul…”

John sat down next to him. Paul felt his look resting upon him; his skin began to tingle in an uncomfortable way.

“Look, I… I don’t really know why I said all of that. I suppose, I…” John sighed, running a nervous hand through his hair, “I’m awfully bad at apologising,” he offered with a weak chuckle. “But I’m sorry. Really.”

Paul kept quiet. He had begun to toy with a few blades of grass and was picking them to pieces now. John looked at him expectantly, waiting for a reply, but as nothing came back, he continued with another deep sigh. At least Paul was listening to him and not pummelling the hell out of him.

“I don’t know what was wrong with me when I said that to you. It’s just me, I suppose… Sometimes, I don’t know how to react to certain, er, situations. Something in my mind snaps and then I start to insult the people I… care about.”

Paul was still not looking at him, but had stopped tearing the grass blades apart. John looked at him intently, still hoping for a reaction, but let out a frustrated groan as the other boy remained silent. Meanwhile, Paul tried his best to stay calm; he would either start insulting John and probably try to hurt him as well or get too emotional over this. And Christ, he didn’t want to seem like a weakling, although he certainly felt like one.

“Christ, I don’t know what to say to make you feel better. I’ve never been good at this saying sorry crap, so tell me what the hell you want to hear. It didn’t mean anything, you know.”

As Paul’s silence continued, John shook his head with a mirthless chuckle.  “I can’t do anything then, eh?”

No reply.

“Oh well, I’ll go home now, but if you want to talk… Well, you know where to find me.”

He got on his feet and shot one last glance at the other boy sitting on the ground, who was staring dumbly at his feet, and turned around, walking away slowly.

“What about the kiss?”  Paul’s voice cut through the tense silence like a knife.

John stopped and turned around, his eyebrows arched. “What?”

Paul was looking up at him now, any softness from his big eyes gone.

“I said what about the kiss? Didn’t it mean anything to you either?”  The quiet voice was so clear and demanding to know, which was so… unusual for Paul that John’s mouth went dry in an instant.

Well. Fuck.  He really had to justify that now, hadn’t he?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There, play stupid. That would throw him off.

“When I came back from that party,” Paul explained dryly, “you kissed me.”

“Oh, _that_ …” John gazed down at the ground and kicked a small stone. Glancing briefly up, he noticed that Paul still had his eyes fixed upon him, still waiting for an answer.  The lump in John’s throat seemed awfully huge now and although he would have rather walked away from here, his problems, Paul and anything else that would annoy the fuck out of him, his body disobeyed him completely.  Before he knew what was happening, he was sitting next to Paul again.

“That kiss… Well, I…”

Oh bloody hell, he hated being confronted with such crap. And if he was being really honest with himself, he wasn’t really sure either.

“I don’t know, Paul, why do people kiss each other? Maybe I mistook you for Cyn.”

“Cyn. In our _home_. Right.” Paul’s face remained calm as he spoke those words; he didn’t give away the tiniest hint of  the nervousness he was feeling right now. “Nice try, Lennon.”

“Well, it was  _ you _ who kissed  _ me _ in the first place, if I remember it correctly!”

Now it was the younger’s turn to lose his composure and blush as he was caught off guard.

_ John you wanker. _

He looked down at his hands, suddenly in desperate need of something to toy with in order to distract himself from the whirlwind of millions of random thoughts in his mind.  Without even realising what he was actually doing, he took John’s hand and played with it, traced the fine lines and patterns with his fingertips.

“I… Uhm…” he began, whilst trying to sort out the words he wanted to say, “I’m not… you know, a _queer_. But at that moment, I don’t know, i-it just made sense, I think.” His voice was low, just a soft murmur.  How he hated making confessions of any kind, just as much as John, but time for that sort of thing had come.

John closed his hand around Paul’s and began stroking its back with his thumb. (Was it a queer thing to do? He hoped not, but then, how much queerer could they get, anyway?)

“I know what you mean,” he admitted, just as silent, “Everything we do – together – seems somehow right, doesn’t it?”

Paul nodded his head and looked down at their intertwined fingers, hating himself for enjoying the contact and gentle touch far too much.

“Paul,” John then murmured and brought his free hand up to cup the other’s cheek, caressing it tenderly.

With a tentative, shy smile, Paul tilted his head; a rosy tone tainted his cheeks. He nuzzled the other’s nose, both smiling at the sudden change of the atmosphere, and looked into John’s eyes.  John then continued to nuzzle his face, which caused Paul to laugh lightly at the tickling sensation. Cupping John’s face, Paul gently stopped his movements and rested his forehead against the other, feeling warm breath grazing his skin, both breathing the same air. They were so close, could almost feel and taste the other’s lips.  When Paul closed his eyes, heart beating wildly, John did the same, licking his lips in anticipation. They leaned in and what followed was just a faint contact, a light brush of lips…

And then the moment was gone. A much too familiar voice was calling out their names.

" _Michael_..." John muttered, quickly brushing his nose one more time against Paul’s. The other sighed and retreated reluctantly.

“We should go before dinner’s cold, you know.”

“Yeah, don’t want to piss off the other’s, do we?”

John got up, lifting Paul up as well by pulling his hand.

And while they were walking back, deliberately slow, he never let go of it until they arrived at their home.

*

“John, would you mind passing me the salt, please?” Jim asked, but got no reply.

John was for to engrossed with sneaking glances at Paul, grinning like a right idiot when the other would meet his eye, smiling just as stupidly.

“John, dear? Jim asked you something, “ Julia tried and placed a hand upon her son’s shoulder, tapping it lightly.

He moved his head slowly around to look at her; both Jim and Julia found it strange to find that his face was lightly flushed.

“Salt?” he asked and Jim nodded, cocking an eyebrow. It was obvious where Paul got these insanely perfect eyebrows from.

With a sheepish smile, John handed his stepfather the salt, but as soon as his task was fulfilled, he returned all his attention back to Paul instead of his food, which was slowly getting cold.

Paul, too, neglected his meal, taking only a couple of bites and picking at it listlessly.

What neither Jim, Julia nor Mike could have known was that the two boys were much too engaged with what was going on down beneath the table.

Paul’s hand was resting upon John’s thigh, drawing small, teasing circles while John was softly nudging the other’s foot . Paul nudged back just as eagerly with a subtle smirk. As he allowed himself to sneak his hand up John’s leg a little higher, the latter choked on the water he was drinking.

John shot a glance at him, which was met by a mischievous little smile.

*

If they had been aware of that they were blatantly flirting in front of their family, they might have  _ considered _ stopping it. Seeing as how much they were enjoying themselves (and the other, too), the thought of stopping their flirtatious shenanigans simply didn’t occur to them.  When dinner was finally over, one would have assumed that they would have rushed straight to a more private place. But in fact, they decided in silence to take things slow.

Since it was still John’s birthday, they dutifully spent some time with their family and later on with the rest of the Quarrymen, whom Julia had invited over as a surprise for her birthday boy. It was still the middle of the week, therefore his original plan had been to meet up with his friends and celebrate his birthday appropriately during the weekend, but John didn’t complain.

Jim had actually allowed them to drink beer on this special day and so it was a merry evening for all.

The boys played a few songs for the grown-ups and were rewarded with applause. Even Paul’s father, who didn’t fancy at all rock ‘n’ roll music, acknowledged that they were good, even though he also requested some other songs from ancient times which nobody had ever heard of, making Paul blush with embarrassment, saying “Dad…!” in annoyance in order to make him shut up.

John nudged Paul’s shoulder lightly and gave him a wide smile. Paul winked at him, blushing even harder, and quickly returned his attention back to his old father, who would simply not stop praising the music that might have been fashionable thirty years ago.

*

When their guests were finally gone, when the house was empty again (at last!) and they had their privacy back, the two boys slowly retreated for the night.

John went first; Paul followed a little while later.

He deliberately chose not to join John in the bathroom. He was waiting in their room until his friend returned and quickly left it without giving John a chance to make a move on him.  While he was brushing his teeth, he reminisced the day’s happenings: how their morning had started, how upset he had been after the disaster at school and John had apologised to him, never mind how awkward that apology might have been.

And not to forget the  _ almost _ -kiss.

Paul felt heat rising up to his cheeks as he recalled the feeling of John’s thin lips brushing his…  Why did everything feel so right? He would probably never find out.  With a deep sigh, he spit out the toothpaste and cleaned his face.  Quick footsteps brought him back to his room – his legs were apparently leading a life of their own.  As he opened the door, he was met by the sight of John sitting on his bed, looking expectantly at him, waiting patiently.

“Good evening,” Paul greeted him as he stepped in.

“Good evening, sir. Would you mind keeping me some company?” John replied and patted the empty space next to him.

A smile broke out on Paul’s face while he walked over to his friend’s bed, sitting down next to him.

Suddenly growing self-conscious, he couldn’t help but flinch when John crawled closer and touched his arm. Nervousness and anticipation were slowly but surely killing him as he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt.

“Paul?” John softly called his name, giving him a warm smile when he would finally turn his head to face him.

Paul felt as if his cheeks were on fire, while the dizziness in his brain at the closeness to John’s body, John’s _face_ caused him to sway just very slightly. The other reached up and cupped his face like he had done earlier and placed a gentle kiss upon Paul’s cheek, slowly nuzzling the side of his face afterwards.

“Don’t be shy,” he whispered, “It’s only me.”

Paul nodded. A faint smile played over his lips. With his arms pressed securely between his legs, he tried to relax, while he tilted his head just a little bit more towards John. He put his arms around Paul’s middle and nuzzled his face again, brushed his throat with his lips.  Paul whimpered silently at the feeling, causing John to laugh quietly.  He lightly pecked Paul's cheeks, forehead and eyelids and wandered down to his mouth, kissing its corners hesitantly.

“John…” It was only a whisper as Paul feared that the very sound of his voice would break the mysterious spell they had created. He swallowed the lump in his throat and brushed John’s lips slowly and tentatively.

Gently pressing his mouth against matching lips, John turned this into a proper kiss, his chest tightened with nervousness and slight worry, too. Still, he shoved those anxious feelings aside for the excitement was taking hold of him, making him feel lightheaded.

Both boys took deep breaths when they allowed themselves to part their mouths a little. Still somehow connected, Paul rested his forehead against John’s. He had so many questions about what was happening with them and what they were doing… But he figured that John was just as clueless as he was; he was no oracle and he didn’t know every answer to every bloody question in this world. He was John, just John, who was kissing him with his thin but nevertheless not less lovely lips.

Paul parted his mouth even more and let the tip of his tongue trail slowly over the other’s lower lip, silently asking him if they should go further. He felt a smile forming on John’s parted lips and that was all he needed to know.

While they let their tongues touch tentatively, testing how far they could go and how ready they were, John pulled Paul gently down with him.  They were lying on their sides, facing each other, still kissing.  As Paul let his hand wander over John’s side, caressing him, John stroked Paul’s biceps in slow, teasing circles and continued shoving his hand underneath the hem of the other’s shirt, letting his fingertips trail over the naked, shivering skin.

If their family knew what kind of illicit but extremely thrilling things they were doing in this very room…

When John began to laugh, Paul broke the kiss.

“Huh?” He looked at him in confusion, but John only shook his head, brushing his fingertips over Paul’s nose.

“’s nothing,” he said quietly, “Just a silly thought.”

“Care to share?” Paul felt how raspy his voice actually was and cleared his throat.

John shook his head, grinning as he placed his hand upon Paul's cheek again, which immediately turned crimson under his gentle touch.

“Paul?”

“Hm-hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Paul frowned.

“That I called you a fatty. You’re not fat. I just like to tease you.”

The other laughed at John’s words and gave him a short but sweet kiss.

“I know,” he said, “I’m just as mean as you are.”

“Yeah, but I really am sorry. Because, well…” Now it was John’s turn to let heat rise up to his cheeks. “Because you’re quite, you know…  _ cute _ . For a bloke, of course,” he added hastily as he saw the look on Paul’s face. “There’s just something about you that drives me mad and –”

“Is it a good kind of madness?” Paul asked with a snicker.

“Oh it is. You know, you’re just addicting. In some strange and fucked up way,” he chuckled, but added rather insecurely, “Do you get what I mean?”

Paul had his brows knitted in seriousness, while his fingers stroked John’s hair.

“I do,” he admitted, “You’re quite addictive yourself.”

John let out a sigh of relief and placed a kiss between Paul’s furrowed brows.

“And… What does it mean?”

“What?”

“This,” Paul said as he gestured to John and himself, “Are we…?”

He didn’t need to speak out the word; John understood what he meant. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t think so, no. I haven’t got the desire to molest George or Stu, you know.”

Paul laughed quietly into John’s chest.  “Neither do I. Just you.”

“Besides, I’d still kick you out of my bed if Bardot walked in right now for some quality time with my gorgeous prick.”

“Not if I don’t kick you out first!”

“Cheeky boy.” John grinned and kissed Paul once again, which made both of them forget about the lovely Brigitte completely.


	20. Chapter 20

It was the first time he was woken up by a kiss and he had always imagined it differently: Soft, full lips, beautiful curves which would drive any man mad with want pressed up against him, a sweet giggle and long, silky hair that smelled of strawberries or something else extremely lovely and exotic.  But instead of full lips, he got a pair of thin ones; instead of maddening curves, a slim body with a hint of muscles was lying on top of him, a low voice was murmuring into his ear (“Time for my princess to wake up!”) and slightly hairy arms and legs were tangled with his.

No strawberries or something else extremely lovely and exotic. Only the smell of grease and a hint of aftershave, nicked from his dad.

He found himself snuggling into the warm cocoon that was John’s body, yawning and rubbing his cheek against the other’s shoulder.

Suddenly, a fist collided with his shoulder and he let out a yelp.

“I said wake up, you tosser!” John grumbled impatiently and shoved at Paul, who in return only buried his face in John’s neck, his arms tightly wrapped around the latter’s body.

“What day is it? Isn’t it Saturday already?” he mumbled sleepily against John’s throat, kissing it lightly.

“No, it’s Thursday. Move your lazy arse.”

“So what? You usually never care if you’ve got to go to college or not.”  A frown flickered over Paul’s face, a sigh of annoyance escaped his lips. John brushed the hair from his forehead with a smile.

“I know,” he said and kissed said forehead, “but old Mac told me that if I get another admonition, he’ll throw me out.”

“What? I thought you burned the last one. Why did you let dad get it?”

“I’m just  _ joking _ , Macca,” John began to laugh as he ruffled Paul’s already messy hair. “But I really can’t get another one. My headmaster is just  _ waiting _ for me to do something daft and if I do, well then I’ll be kicked out. Can’t let that happen yet, can I?”

“No, because you don’t want to work either,” Paul replied with a grin and got up, laughing silently when John whacked his head.

“What? It’s true!”

“Yeah, yeah… Now fuck off into the bathroom so we won’t miss the bus.”

*

Half-way done with his morning routine in the bathroom, John joined him and hurried him on. Whenever Paul needed more time than he thought was necessary, he would slap his backside and poke his ribs. Breakfast was just as hectic. They took their butties and quickly left the house. Mike had still been asleep as his day at school would start much later - they both had to swallow down their accusations that they were going to be late because he had not knocked on their door to wake them up.

Of course neither of them had told Julia the real reason for their belated breakfast; the night before, they had been too engaged with each other and had stayed up almost all night long, kissing until one of them had eventually fallen asleep.

Now that they were on the bus, safe and relieved, John and Paul were given enough time to calm down from the chaotic morning.

They chose to sit in the very last row on top of the bus, which was surprisingly rather empty.  John put an arm around Paul’s shoulders when he had made sure that no-one was watching and brushed the other’s cheek with his nose briefly, inhaling his scent greedily. Meanwhile, Paul’s face went red, but nevertheless, his hand ran slowly up and down John’s thigh, giving him a friendly squeeze every now and then. John eventually stopped Paul in his actions, took his hand and played with his fingers.

“You know that we have to keep quiet about this, don’t you?” he asked after a little while with a low voice, frowning.

Paul nodded, his gaze was fixed upon their intertwined hands. “Guess there’s not much left to do.”

“Not really, no,” John agreed, “And… You know that I  _ will _ continue seeing Cyn, right?”

Paul tried not to show that this slightly hurt and stirred up his jealousy; he looked quickly into a different direction.

“Sure.” He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, but withdrew his hand from John’s. “Of course we want to keep things normal.”

John raised an eyebrow. Biting on his fingernail, he muttered, “You can also keep seeing whoever you want. I don’t care.”

“Well, I probably have no other choice. Got to prove to your friends that I’m not the queer bloke from next door, eh?” Paul cracked a forced smile as he recalled how Stuart, that artsy cunt, had called him a poofter behind his back and right in front of everyone else.

John turned his head away to look out of the window and scratched his nose. “Val will be  _ delighted _ . She’s probably already creaming her knickers in anticipation.”

The younger shook his head with an indignant laugh; he didn’t understand how quickly their mood had changed and why John was so grumpy now. After all, it was exactly what  _ he _ wanted.

“Yeah, I guess Val will probably be happy to see me,” he mused and looked down at his fingernails, failing to take note of the grim expression that crossed briefly the other’s face.

*

It was as if nothing had happened the previous night. John and Paul parted with their usual banter before school and college started, John walked away with Cynthia by his side, his arm wrapped snugly around her waist, and Paul went off to the Inny – this time without George.

He couldn’t help himself but to scrunch up his face with a look of disgust as he watched Cynthia kissing John and how he, in return, shoved his tongue down her throat. If only she had known where else that tongue had been the night before, who else got kissed in exactly the same possessive way… Paul smiled silently to himself.

The last straw, though, was when John had opened one eye to look at him while ravishing his girlfriend’s mouth. The flush that had shot up into Paul’s cheeks had only made him feel even more uncomfortable and awkward around them. A penny for the freedom to do exactly the same with John in public without other people judging them…

* 

During classes, Paul’s mind drifted off to the happenings from the previous evening. He tried to recall the feeling of John’s weight resting upon him, his lips covering his whole face in kisses and how perfectly they had matched with his; not to forget his hands that had gone to all sorts of places.

“Hey, McCartney,” a silent voice, an urgent whisper caught his attention.

Paul averted his gaze from the blackboard and glanced at his classmate Archie, who was wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at him.

“What?” Paul whispered back while keeping an eye on the teacher.

“Had a lovely lady with you last night?”

“Huh?” Paul’s heartbeat sped up; his cheeks glowed in a bright rosy tone. “Why do you think that?”

“I recognise a love bite when I see one,” Archie cackled as he eyed the dark red spot which was half-hidden underneath the collar of Paul’s shirt.

Paul’s eyes widened, his hand reached up to his neck as if he could feel it, not quite believing his classmates’ words, absolutely not believing that John had actually done this – that he had had the guts to brand him in that intimate way.

“So, how was she?” Archie continued to ask with a certain urgency behind his words.

Paul sensed that he only wanted to hear every dirty detail, but he chose to stay silent and smile. There wasn’t anything else for him left to do anyway.

“Good,” he replied truthfully, though, “Very Good.”

“And?” Archie bit his lip as he shot their teacher a brief glance, “Who was it? What’s her name? Is it one of the birds from the Art College? Because I know that you, Ivan and your other little friend know people from there.”

Paul knitted his brows as he contemplated how to answer the question. He started to bite on his fingernail while he avoided the other boy’s curious look and eventually whispered, “Yeah, she’s from the college. Two years older than me, mate.”

Nothing but stunned silence came from Archie; his eyes almost seemed to bulge out while his mouth formed a comical o-shape.

“Respect, McCartney,” he then whispered back after a little while and patted Paul’s back when their teacher wasn’t looking, making him feel even more uncomfortable. “I didn’t know you were into older girls, but that you’ve actually managed to pull one… Respect.”

Paul smiled weakly in return and quickly looked out of the window, trying to calm down his nerves and wondering what his 'bird'  was up to in this very moment.

*

“Stu?”

“Mh-hm?”

“I’ve got a question.”

“Hear, hear. About what?”

John licked his dry lips, let his gaze wander around in the classroom, eyeing his fellow students suspiciously, before his gaze finally settled upon his friend’s curious face.

“You know that bloke two houses next to Mimi’s? The one with the twenty thousand children?”

Stuart snickered into his hand. “Yeah, of course I do. Remember when he preached the consequences of smoking to you? What an idiot.”

“Yeah,” John let out a silent chuckle, but inside he felt like a nervous wreck.

“What’s up with him?”

He glanced around briefly once again, before he whispered as silently as he could, “He’s a queer, you know.”

“What?” The corners of Stu’s mouth twitched up into a disbelieving grin.

“I tell you! I caught him snogging another bloke in the bushes last time I visited the old lady,” John lied, praying that the other didn’t see right through him.

“But… But he’s got how many children? Fifty ? I thought he was happily married?”

“That’s what I thought, too, but… you know, he messed around with that stranger and… and I was just wondering… Well, why would he do that? Is it possible to turn – _ boom! _ – queer?” he whispered the last word with an exceptionally low voice as if it could do him any serious harm. “Is it contagious?” Stu laughed silently. “Or does it just happen?”

“I don’t know, John. Why do you ask me?”

“You know why.” He gave his friend a meaningful look with one eyebrow arched. It was that kind of look that reminded the other of a particular drunk night out, which caused him to blush.

“Fuck off, you tit,” Stu groaned and shoved at John’s shoulder.

“Well, it’s true, though, isn’t it?”

“That doesn’t count!” Stuart hissed; John was laughing quietly. “It was just a kiss, okay?”

“And why doesn’t it count then?”

“Because I was bloody drunk and would have even snogged a fucking lawn mower!”

“You didn’t try it with me, though,” John frowned with a mock pout.

“Because even a lawn mower has more sex appeal than you ever will.”

“Shut it!” John laughed, but turned quiet only a few moments later.

They continued working on their project until Stu nudged his foot.

“But, hey, why did you ask me?”

“Ask what?” John was confused at the sudden question, already seeming to be somewhere else entirely with his thoughts.

“If someone can turn queer out of nothing. Why did you ask?”

Stu kept his gaze firmly fixed upon his nervously fidgeting friend, waiting patiently for a reply.

John shrugged his shoulders, nonchalant. “Just got me thinking, you know. Nothing to worry about.”

Stuart ran a hand through his dark hair while letting out a deep sigh. “Is it maybe because of Paul…?”

It took all of John’s composure to stay calm, not to give anything away. “Why Paul? I told you he’s not a queer.”

_ Only for you, though _ , a small voice reminded him.

His friend held up his hands as if to defend himself, saying, “All right, all right. I got it. I was just worried, that’s all.”

“There’s no fucking reason for that, okay? Neither is he making any moves on me nor is it the other way ‘round, so let it fucking rest already,” John snapped, trying to keep his tirade as quiet as possible. After all, one never knew who else was listening.

“I know, I’m sorry…” Stu sighed and decided to drop the subject. John seemed to be extremely sensitive and easily upset when he tried to make some subtle digs at Paul and his questionable sexuality.

Still, John gave him strange looks every few seconds whilst biting on his thumb. After some more few seconds of this strange behaviour had passed, he finally whispered, “You haven’t answered my question yet.”

Stu put down his pencil and rubbed his face, exasperated.

“Well, I don’t know,  _ John _ . Maybe you’re born this way or perhaps you realise at some later point in your life that you actually just really want to suck cock. But please, stop pestering me about this as if I knew every bloody answer, for Christ’s sake.”

John turned momentarily quiet again as he sorted out his thoughts.

“But… it  _ is _ possible to like both, isn’t it? I mean birds  _ and _ blokes, right?”

The older boy turned his head and gave him an odd look. “I suppose so,” he said slowly, “But why do you want to know? You don’t ask things just because you’re curious.”

John looked down at his drawing, cracking his knuckles, ignoring Stu’s question that was still lingering in the air.  Stuart kept looking at him, thoughtful, as he tried to read his friend’s face, hoping to find an answer. With an annoyed sigh, he gave up, shaking his head.

“If I didn’t knew better, I’d say you wanted to try it yourself… This whole queer thing.”

Suddenly, John’s leg kicked his shin forcefully, causing him to wince at the pain.

“Stop saying such utter crap. You know just as well as I do that I will never turn into a fucking fairy.”

“Or fuck one for that matter.”

A pleased smile appeared on John’s lips when his message seemed to have sunken in to the other’s thick skull. He felt as if he had to make his point clear and as soon as the lesson was over, however, and he tracked down his girlfriend, took her hand and dragged her away from college.

“Feel like making a trip to New Brighton?”

She might have protested at first – and her curses and pleas to stop were only met by deaf ears – but as soon as John had led her into the dunes after they had arrived, she stopped. John was indeed making his point clear. Several times.

His thoughts, though, might have drifted to Paul whenever he wasn’t careful enough… To Paul, who was left back at school and spent his entire lunch break running around over both schoolyards, trying to find John, and getting increasingly frustrated with each passing minute.

* 

Paul was sitting in the living room, doing his homework in silence, all the while the disturbing noise of his thoughts creating a whole overwhelming wall of sounds in his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking, and thinking was what got him mad. Mad with anger, mad with worry, mad with confusion…

He sighed and turned around to the next page of his textbook, scribbling a few notes down neatly.

So where was he now, relationship-wise, with John? Was it just occasional fooling around or maybe something more serious, to which neither of them was able to admit? The uncertainty made Paul restless and sent him on a never-ending roller coaster ride of emotions. Right now, he just wanted to hurt John physically, wanted to show his ugly face – while all he longed for, at the same time, was just to be with him and never let him go again.

Paul had figured out pretty quickly that John must have left with Cynthia, seeing as none of them could have been found at the college. Well, John had definitely made sure that things were staying the way they had always been, much to Paul’s chagrin.

Perhaps he should do exactly the same – going out with girls, that was. He wondered what Val was doing these days. He knew that her parents had a phone and he even had her phone number but was actually too shy to call her. What should he say to her, anyway? ‘Hey, fancy going out to the pictures so I can prove my fucking stupid prick of a boy crush that everything’s fine?’

Shaking his head with a joyless chuckle, Paul flipped through the last remaining pages he had to read and groaned at how many were still left. He looked down at his notes and noticed that half of them consisted of a countless number of variations of Lennon and McCartney. 

_ Lennon/McCartney, McCartney/Lennon, MacLen, McLennon... _

Christ, he was really turning into a bird, wasn’t he?

The sound of the door being suddenly opened startled Paul and he sat up straight. If it was his brother, Julia or even his father, he would quickly have to hide the paper away. If it was John, well then…

“Hey, Paul,” John greeted him as he stepped in, beaming at him with a content, well-shagged grin.

“Hi,” Paul replied sheepishly and quickly looked down at his paper.

“Nobody else here?” John asked and came closer.

“Nope.”

“Strange,” John scratched his inner thigh absentmindedly; the sand was fucking itching and had got simply everywhere. He watched Paul for a few seconds, his slender fingers carefully turning the pages of his book, brows furrowed in concentration, not bothering to look up.

He shrugged his shoulders and turned around. “Gonna take a bath,” he announced and sauntered out of the living room.

Paul listened attentively to the sound of his footsteps, holding his breath. When he couldn’t hear anything anymore, he released a sigh.

Normality.

That was what they wanted, right? Act normal, as if nothing had happened… And John did very well in doing so.

Heat crept up into Paul’s cheeks as he imagined what he and Cyn had done; he had a good idea as he could tell from the way John had scratched himself _down there_ , smiling like a bloody fool.

_ Carry on _ , Paul thought to himself with a soft sigh, _as if fucking nothing really matters_.

The familiar longing for something dark and sweet, also known as  _ chocolate _ , suddenly intruded Paul’s mind, making his mouth water.

Chocolate. It was instant happiness. His father wasn’t at home to swat his hands away from the cup boards and Mike wasn’t there to sneak on him.

Smiling mischievously, he got up and quickly walked to the kitchen, humming to himself. Soon enough, he was let down once again. All chocolate was gone.  So the last bar that his brother had stolen had indeed been the last one. Wasn’t it just a fucking marvellous day?  Feeling almost even worse, Paul would have gone back to his stupid homework, if he hadn’t caught a glance of something shiny.

Hot chocolate. Julia had bought hot chocolate.

It was a miracle, how quickly his spirits were lifted. Once he had prepared himself a mug and sat down at the kitchen table, he couldn’t have felt more blissful. He took a few sips from the beverage but thanks to his greediness, he accidentally inhaled some of the hot liquid. He coughed violently as he tried to get it out of his lungs.

“Are you all right, mate?” John’s wet head came into view as he looked around the corner and his eyes widened in shock as he saw how the younger was having a near death experience.

It took less than a blink of the eye until John was by Paul’s side and patted his back forcefully.

“Come on, Paul!” he urged his choking friend and breathed out in relief when Paul finally seemed to recover.

“Thanks,” Paul rasped, his voice only a hoarse whisper.

It wasn’t until now that he noticed that John had only a towel snugly wrapped around his hips.  If his face hadn’t already been red from the effort of saving his life, he would have blushed furiously now.

John took the chair next to him and shook his head. “You’ve got to be more careful next time.”

“I know that very well, thanks, dad!” Paul snapped and took the mug, placing it carefully against his lips. As if to demonstrate that he was indeed capable of drinking like a normal human being, he took two sips and gave John a pointed look.

The latter laughed softly and looked at him in an amused, perhaps even loving way.  Paul felt his blood rising up to his face once again as he noticed John’s look lingering on him.

“What?” he asked in annoyance, putting down his mug.

“You’ve got a moustache,” John laughed.

He reached out and before Paul’s brain could process what was happening, John’s hand was placed upon his cheek, his thumb wiping away the hot chocolate trace above his upper lip.

“See?” He put his thumb in his mouth with a smirk.

Paul swallowed and tried hard not to gape at him, mesmerised by his actions. Instead, he quickly looked out of the window and tried to get rid off the stupid bright colour in his cheeks – which was practically impossible, seeing as John had shuffled closer with his chair and reached out again, cupping Paul’s face. Without a single word, he leaned in and kissed him, gentle and sweet.

A few droplets of water were running from his wet fringe down onto Paul’s forehead, causing him to chuckle quietly. John smiled against his lips while his thumb softly stroked the other’s cheek, and parted his lips slightly.  Paul willingly opened his mouth as well and soon they were engaged in a slow, deep kiss which caused their stomachs to flutter.  He whimpered when John withdrew to catch his breath, his forehead resting against Paul’s.

“The chocolate tastes great,” he said quietly, laughing.

“You could’ve said something. I’d have made a cuppa for you, too.”

“Nah,” John shook his head slightly and kissed Paul again, “I prefer this way. Tastes much better.”

“Much better than Cynthia?”

It was a slip, and Paul immediately bit his tongue as soon as he was the look on John's face.  Funny how quickly such a moment could be ruined, wasn’t it?  However, this question had been on the tip of Paul’s jealous tongue ever since John had come home. The latter, though, didn’t take it very well.

In fact, John leaned back with an annoyed look and glared daggers at Paul, making him cringe inwardly.

“Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he asked as he folded his arms defensively in front of his chest.

But Paul wasn’t going to give in and could be just as much of a gruff arse hole as John was. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You weren’t at the fucking college, because you were too busy shagging her somewhere else.”

“So? What’s the fucking problem? I’ve got a right to do this, Paul, and you’re not going to change that, get it? For fuck’s sake, stop acting like a bleedin’ jealous girlfriend for once and get your head out of your arse!”

As inviting and full Paul's lips usually looked to John, they were now pressed into a tight, grim line which made his face, along with his dark eyes, seem so much harder than it actually was.

“Fine! But you know what, John?” he hissed, “I’m sick of these bloody games you’re trying to play with me.”

He got up from his chair, almost knocking it over, and went upstairs, leaving his cup of hot chocolate and a just as angry John Lennon behind.

John’s whole body was trembling with fury, but as soon as he heard the front door being opened, he had to compose his temper – as difficult as it was.

“Dear? Are you all right?” Julia asked as she went into the kitchen with a pleasant smile. “Why are you sitting half-nakedly in the kitchen?”

She might have been amused and equally confused about the sight, but John didn’t feel like explaining anything. He simply got up and passed her, avoiding to meet her eye and muttered, “I’m fine.”

As soon as he was in the bathroom again, he slammed the door shut.


	21. Chapter 21

Over the next few weeks, neither John nor Paul ever mentioned what kind of illicit activities they had done together earlier or their last row in the kitchen. They might have still talked about trivialities, like music or rehearsals for the upcoming gig which also happened to be Paul’s debut, but as soon as they ran out of topics, there was an almost piercing, awkward silence.  Paul still taught John some chords and tricks, but now they meticulously kept a safe distance to each other – it was all about not invading the other’s personal space.

It still occurred often enough that John skipped school together with Cynthia, but when he noticed that Val girl being around Paul more often, he started to keep an eye on them. He wasn’t jealous, no. He just wanted to make sure that Paul, his _friend_ , was all right.

What did he care when Val flashed a smile at Paul whenever they were holding hands? Why should he be worried when she ran her greedy little hands through that luscious, chocolate brown hair of his mate? And why would he waste a second thought on the stupid bint when she pressed her ugly mouth against Paul’s cute little one?

No, John wasn’t jealous. He only wanted to make sure that Paul, his probably not-so-secret crush, wasn’t falling for this hideous ogre.

* 

The 18th of October was a Friday. The Quarrymen were set to play at the New Clubmoor Hall and it was Paul’s first proper gig.

John didn’t notice any kind of nervousness about Paul when they got up in the morning, nor when they rehearsed with the others after school. They discussed the set list and Paul seemed confident enough with each song that was suggested. He played without making any mistakes and also helped those who still had some problems with getting some chords right.

It wasn’t until they were on their way back home to get dressed properly that Paul’s calmness began to crack. And only just because John had asked him to play the lead guitar during the show.

“What?” Paul asked with disbelief, eyes wide open in honest shock, “Why do you want me  to do it?”

John frowned, not quite understanding Paul’s reaction; it was the last thing he expected since he believed that his friend would welcome the offer with open arms (and, perhaps, him as well).

“Why not? You’re the best guitar player we have and you’ve got no problem with playing solos. I don’t see where the problem is.”

“The problem is the audience,” Paul replied while his expression darkened.

“Son, why are you in a band then if you can’t handle the presence of other bloody people?”

“It’s not the audience in general, John,” Paul groaned, “It’s just those particular people.”

John raised his eyebrows, puzzled, and yet silently demanding a proper answer, but Paul just shook his head with an annoyed little frown and turned away.

“Nevermind,” he muttered under his breath and fell silent.

John decided to drop the topic as he felt himself getting just as nervous and irritated as the other boy and that was the last thing he wanted on a day like this. As long as everything went well and Paul played the lead guitar, he would feel much more relieved.

*

“Hey, is it always that full? I don’t remember that we ever had such a crowd.”

John peered over Len’s shoulder through the slit of the curtain.

“Dunno, mate,” he whispered as they watched the audience like animals in a zoo.  Mike and Julia were there as well and were about to take a seat. Jim couldn’t make it as he had to work later in the evening.

“I bet it’s my mum’s and Mike’s fault. They told us that they’d bring along some friends.”

Len snickered quietly into his hand. “Well, your mum surely knows quite many people.”

John nodded with a sigh. “That she does, son, that she does…”  He patted his friend’s shoulder and went back to the others, who were occupied with checking their instruments and outfits.

“All right, lads,” John clapped into his hands with a big grin that only served to cover up his own fading calmness, “We’ll go out in a couple of minutes. Are you ready?”

“Can’t we just start now?” Pete whined, tapping his foot impatiently. Good old Pete, always the most eager one of them all.

“No, we have to make a good impression today. We’ve got family members here and don’t want them to think of us as uncivilised pig men, do we?”

The boys laughed at that; all of them except for Paul – Paul whose face was as pale as the wall behind him.

“Hey,” John said softly when he approached him. Paul looked as if he was about to empty the contents of his stomach right in front of his feet at any second. “You okay, son?”

“What?” Paul’s head shot up and he stared at John with big eyes full of worry.

“I asked if you’re okay,” John repeated calmly.

“Yeah, yeah I think so…” Paul said hastily and cleared his throat, rubbing the clammy palms of his hands against his jacket. “I’m fine.”

As much as he might have tried to conceal his nervousness, he couldn’t stop his voice from trembling. He fidgeted restlessly with his jacket and trousers and checked if his hair was in place, which simply made John smile.

“Wait,” Paul then suddenly grunted. He buttoned up neatly John’s shirt and fixed his bow tie. “You looked like a scruff,” he added with a hesitant, but nevertheless sweet smile, causing John to blush at the unexpected gesture.

“Can’t help it,” he smiled sheepishly back, “Once a scruff, always a scruff.”

Paul let out a weak chuckle, but stopped when Colin called their names. “Hey, everyone! It’s time!”

John turned to Paul and gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

*

The first half their show went well. Paul might have been as pale as Death himself, but grew more confident with each new song they played. He grinned at John across the stage and the latter nodded his head reassuringly, giving him a wink once in a while. And then something else caught Paul’s eye and gone was all the attention he had previously given to John.

The older boy followed his look to the blurry crowd in front of him, but one person stood out so sharply that John couldn’t have ignored her, even if he had been blindfolded.

Val.

The bitter taste in John’s mouth that accompanied her name made him shiver with disgust.

So Paul had invited her, hm? John should have expected something like this, really. He tried to shrug off the possessive feeling that took a hold of him as soon as he watched the silent conversation between them going on, how they practically undressed each other with their hungry looks.

Christ.

He wanted to punch some sense into that daft wanker’s head, but instead he chose to torture his poor guitar a little more and sing louder than was necessary.  The next song they played was called _Guitar Boogie_ and Paul was flashing his most dashing smile at Val, winking at her cheekily while John’s nostrils flared with anger.

But then something happened which neither could foresee – Paul fucked his solo royally up. And, oh, how John was amused by the sight of his friend losing all his confidence and composure as his face looked so utterly shocked that John already thought Paul was going to cry and run away like a little girl. Well, it would have definitely served him right.

John was so full of malicious joy, in fact, that he started to laugh roaringly, almost pissing himself as his whole body was shaking.  Paul tried to smile apologetically, but failed at it – it rather looked as though he trying to learn how to smile _at all_.

As quickly as his little flirt with Val had begun, it ended just as quickly. Head hanging in shame, Paul retreated to the back of the stage where he played without making any more trouble (or attempts at showing mating habits).  When the show was over, John went straight to Paul, disregarding Julia and Michael’s request to come over and join them. He only wanted to see if he could rub a bit more salt into the other’s fresh wounds.

“Hey, that solo was real quality, Paul. Care to show me how to play it or –”

“Fuck off, John,” Paul cut him off with a growl, cheeks glowing with shame, and turned away to put his guitar into its case. “I don’t need you to rub it into my face, okay?”

John’s expression softened at the pitiful sight in front of him; a crushed Paul McCartney – well, when did he ever get to see and relish in this?

“Paul, it was your first gig, it’s fine,” he said and kneeled down next to the other boy, placing one hand upon his back, but which was immediately shrugged off.

“Leave me alone for a while, will you?” It was more of a command than a question, but John complied with a single nod.

He went back to his mother and step-brother and was instantly showered with praise and adoration.

“I made something special for this evening!” Julia chirped, her voice still slightly shaky from all the excitement. “Shall we go home and celebrate properly?”

Mike, who was still just as excited as Julia, dashed off seconds later to find his brother. After five minutes, though, he returned with a confused look on his face.

“I can’t find him,” he said and turned to John, hoping he would know where the other McCartney had gone off to.  But unfortunately, John was just as clueless as them and thus he asked his fellow band mates.

“Paul?” Eric said with an arched eyebrow, “I thought he told you that he’d leave with that girl?”

“What girl?” John asked with a slightly aggressive tone lingering in his voice.

Eric shot a glance at the others, who quickly looked away.

“There was a blonde one, who came to see him after you had gone away…”

The muscles in John’s jaw tensed at the mere thought of the girl and Paul together. He felt the urge to punch Eric for not having tried to stop Paul, but how could he have known?  Clicking his tongue in frustration, he turned around instead to walk back to his family.

“And? Where is he?” Julia asked with a hopeful expression, but was just as disappointed as her son when he told her that Paul had already left.

“Oh. Well then. More for us left to eat, I suppose,” she said curtly, shrugging as if it didn’t matter to her. Funnily enough, she was just as bad as John at covering her feelings. On their way back home, she couldn’t stop babbling about how much time she had spent in the kitchen and how much she would have loved to see the whole family sitting at the table. All Julia had wanted was to celebrate their gig, never mind Paul’s little failure during his solo.

_ Little failure _ … John huffed at those words as he stared out of the bus’s window into the black night.

*

He couldn’t recall the last time he had been so nervous; not even the show earlier could compete with that, because the thing he was hopefully about to do, was, compared to the gig, a thousand times worse.  Val had asked him to ‘help her babysitting’ and Paul had been well aware of what 'babysitting' meant.

She had put on a record, something slow and romantic, and sat down next to the nervous wreck on the couch.

“Hey…” she breathed and placed a hand upon his arm. “Everything is fine, Paul. Just relax.”

Said boy swallowed hard when Val suddenly took his hand and placed it upon her chest.

“See? It’s all okay,” she smiled and gave his hand a light squeeze, making it cup her breast in the same process.

Paul moaned softly, despite himself, as his cheeks were tainted in a bright red. He looked up from his hand on her chest to her face, silently asked her if he was allowed to use his second, too. After all, he had to make good use of these two breasts that seemed to be made for his shaky hands only.

With a cattish grin, Val pressed his free hand against her other breast and kissed him, while her own free hand travelled down to cup him through his trousers.

“Fuck!” Paul gasped, eyes wide in shock.

“That’s what we are about to do, yesm” Val sighed against his lips with a smile and gave him one more friendly rub.

* 

Whistling cheerfully, he entered his home. Everything seemed so much better now and with a huge grin plastered on his face, he greeted Jim and Julia, who were sitting in the kitchen. They didn’t seem to hear him, though, as they paid him no attention. They were far too engrossed in their conversation which, from what Paul could tell, must have been rather serious. Shaking his head with a light giggle, he walked upstairs, taking two steps at once. Apparently, they knew where he had been, otherwise they would have interrogated him as it was already past eleven…

The interrogation came quicker than he might have expected – but not from the adults downstairs.

“You little shit! Why for fuck’s sake did you go with that stupid twat and didn’t stay with us? Are you really so desperate to get rid off your virginity?”

While John was hissing and cursing at Paul in a mad tirade of anger and frustration, he shoved the younger gobsmacked boy against the wall. “What the fuck were you thinking? Why did you do this?”

Paul groaned in pain as he tried to wriggle himself free from John’s grip on him, kicked and boxed, but always missed the other in front of him.

“Get off me!” he hissed back, refraining from yelling into John’s face because of their family. “Fuck off, John!”

As he tried to escape again, John shoved him even more aggressively against the wall, obviously wanting to hurt Paul.

“No! You give me fucking answers, that’s what I want!”

“Answers? Well, what do you want to hear, you tosser?”

“How about ‘Why did you fuck her?’ for a start? Is it because you _love_ her?” John's poorly concealed disgust would have been funny to Paul if John's hands weren't about to throttle him.

“No!” Paul growled and tried to push John away.

“Well, why then?”

“What do you even care?!” he finally shouted, shoving the elder forcefully away.

From the fierce look in John’s eyes, Paul thought he was going to punch him into oblivion… And to his sheer astonishment, the opposite happened.

John’s glare softened after a little while, all energy seemed to have drained from his body. His shoulders slumped a little and the words coming from his mouth were just a murmur, “Because I do.”

Loud, quick footsteps could be heard on the floor outside and when the door flew open, John quickly stepped back, looking into a different direction.

“What’s going on here?” Jim asked with a stern look, letting his gaze wander between the two teenagers.

Paul shot a side glance at John, licking his dry lips.  “Nothing, Dad. Everything’s okay.”

“I thought I heard you shouting.”

Paul shrugged in reply with an innocent face; he hadn’t heard any shouts.  Jim eyed his son and John suspiciously, before he told them that whatever they were up to, keep it at a reasonable volume and wished them a good night.

Without saying another word or even casting a look at Paul, John went to his bed with an aggravated sigh and laid down, facing the wall.

Paul took off his jacket, frowning at the sudden change in John’s mood and at his last words. He kept standing in the middle of the room for another moment, unsure about what to do next, but then decided to sort things out properly with his friend.  With silent footsteps, he walked over to John’s bed and sat down next to him, the mattress shifting underneath his weight.

“John?” Paul softly called his name, while he hoped he would turn around and face him. But John remained in his position, being the stubborn donkey that he was.

Paul leaned in closer and placed a hand on the other side of John’s body so that he was now looming over him.

“John,” he repeated, this time a little bit more quiet and rather to himself, as he brushed a few strands of hair out of the other’s face. “You care about me? Really…?”

As Paul waited for John’s reply, he felt his heart pounded in his chest, almost making him dizzy with the sound in his hears, but he couldn’t care less; he simply had to know.  John gave him a side-glance while his cheeks even seemed to flush a little. Nodding his head shortly, he let out a deep sigh.

“I do,” he admitted with a low voice, “I hate seeing you with that… that…”

“All right, I get it,” Paul cut in, shifting his weight as he began to feel slightly uncomfortable. Nevertheless, he hadn’t stopped stroking John’s hair, marveling at how soft it was.

“But why is that so? I thought we’d go back to normal after, you know…” His cheeks went a little red at the memories of lying in bed and kissing all night long. “I mean, you’re allowed to see girls, but I’m not?”

John shrugged helplessly and finally turned his head and looked at Paul properly. “I suppose I just don’t like sharing. But what we have… had… It’s just wrong. You know what people would think if they ever found out.”

“Yeah…” Paul’s face darkened as he thought of the horrible things other people were capable of doing. His scary train of thoughts was suddenly interrupted when John took his hand and kissed its palm gently, caressing it timidly afterwards.

“I don’t like sharing what is mine. Never liked it.”

Paul chuckled in surprise. “So I’m yours, eh?”

John nodded with a slight smile. “Always were.”

Heat shot up into Paul’s face and a sheepish grin danced over his lips. John’s next movement was quite unexpected from Paul’s side: without a warning, he sat up a little and pulled Paul on his lap. Paul rested his legs on either side of John’s body, straddling him, while the latter ran his hands slowly up and down Paul’s thighs. They smiled at each other, their faces equally red, feelings mutual giddy.

“Paul?” John then said as took his time to sort out his thoughts. “I… I, er… I like you.”

“You like me?” Paul’s smile evolved into a shy grin as the implication of John's words filled his head, making it feel light.

“Yeah, I do,” John confessed and kept his gaze fixed upon his hands that were still gently caressing the other’s thighs. But then he looked up, worried. “Do I sound like a queer?”

Paul laughed in reply and leaned down to brush his nose against John’s. “Well, if that's the case,” he whispered, “then we're both in this together.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you, too, you idiot.”

“You like me? Are you serious?”

“I just told you so.”

“Are you really sure…?”

“Christ, yes!” Paul laughed quietly and pressed gently his mouth against John’s soft lips. And almost immediately, their tongues were touching, stroking each other, making the kiss much more urgent.  After a little while, John parted the kiss, but kept his forehead against Paul’s.

“I’m scared,” he murmured, “Scared shitless. This is so wrong.”

“Tell you what,” Paul replied as he reached up to cup John’s face, thumb stroking slowly his flushed, warm cheek, “You’re not alone. I’m also scared. But, you know, it’s different. It’s us. Just us, John. It’s only you, it’s only me, it’s only us and nobody else. That’s what counts.” He planted another reassuring peck upon the tip of John’s nose. “It’s our secret and no-one needs to know, right?”

The other boy smiled weakly in reply, nodding his head with a sigh. “Do we continue seeing girls then?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Paul’s hand travelled up to play with John’s hair.

“I don’t know, “ he said tentatively, “I suppose so… Seeing as you’ve got a girlfriend and I–”

John squeezed Paul briefly in his possessive embrace and glared at him. Paul  just laughed at John’s obvious display of contempt towards poor Val.

“Don’t worry, we’re not together.”

“What?” And suddenly, his face lit up and he didn’t even bother to conceal his delight about the news.

Paul shook his head, but still mirroring John’s grin. “No. I mean, the shag was all great and thank God I can finally say I’ve got some experience… But Val is actually quite stupid. Not the brightest candle in the chandelier, to put it nicely.”

The smug grin that graced John’s features almost reached his eyes.  “Well, you could’ve also asked me. Would’ve saved you a lot of trouble.”

“Maybe,” Paul mused and leaned forward again, “But it certainly made things more interesting, don’t you think?”

“My, oh, my, Macca! What a predator we are!”

“Well, I had a good teacher,” Paul said with a sly grin that matched John’s leer and moved his hips just once, applying enough pressure to make the other groan. TJohn’s hands quickly reached around to cup Paul’s round arse and held him firmly in place, shifting his hips slowly against him, loving every second that passed in delicious friction.

“John…” Paul moaned into his ear and covered his mouth in millions of greedy little kisses.

He began to move his groin as well, tentatively rocking back and forth, slow enough that it was almost painful.

“Fuck… Paul, keep doing that,” John urged with a husky voice and began sucking on the soft skin of Paul’s throat when the latter offered it to him, craning his neck.

The mattress made soft squeaking noses as the two boys moved against each other, unable to stop. Eventually, they grew more careless while their movements got bolder. Paul moaned quietly as the latter kneaded his arse and began to lick at his ear shell, slowly thrusting his tongue into his ear.

“Close, so fucking close,” Paul babbled incoherently in-between soft groans and sighs of pleasure, picking up speed as he unabashedly humped his friend beneath him.

“Me too,” John groaned through gritted teeth and captured Paul’s lips in a messy kiss.

Paul came first, making strange muffled sounds against John’s lips, the latter followed shortly afterwards, murmuring Paul's name repeatedly.

Neither of them dared to move afterwards; the mess created in their underwear felt far too uncomfortable. Paul cupped John’s face and gave him a slow and tender kiss, loved the feeling of his thin lips and slight stubble against his skin.

“Looks like we’re in too deep now, doesn't it?” John smiled against Paul’s mouth.

The other hummed in agreement. “Let’s lock the door before someone gets the silly idea of walking in.”


	22. Chapter 22

Stuart Sutcliffe had always been extremely aware and attentive of other people and their behaviour and feelings. He was of a highly sensitive nature which suited his artistic ambitions perfectly well. Stuart was a quiet man who liked to observe other people in silence and found it interesting how much he could learn about someone by just watching them.

When he was observing strangers in the streets, his mind always created little stories for each person he was watching. There was the dodgy man who had just stepped out of a lingerie shop, having just bought sexy new underwear for his lover and not his wife; the lonely lady on a park bench who was still trying to get over her husband’s death during the war; the slightly criminal children who had nicked records because their parents wouldn’t allow them to listen to the ‘American filth’ that corrupted their innocent little minds... Stuart had much fun thinking of stories which were sometimes even worth painting.

One story, however, worried him, even made him feel uncomfortable.

It was the story of two people he knew; one of which was even his friend. Whenever he watched John and Paul, their story was so striking and it always kept coming back, whispering words in his hear about things he didn’t want to be aware of. But as much as he tried, the voice never faded. Not when they were around each other, anyway.

The chemistry between them was uncanny, almost terrifying. A look would pass between them, a silent smile and subtle touch and then everyone else was forgotten. They were in their own world, eyes for each other only while others had to stay outside and watch the curious things going on between them. Even Stuart.

He tried to ignore the little space they left between each other, pretend that he didn’t notice those meaningful glances they exchanged and stay oblivious of the smiles they flashed at each other across the whole schoolyard. But it was simply impossible for him to turn a blind eye on the subtle touches – a pat on the arm, rub at a thigh, squeeze on the knee and then there were these ambiguous words that just rolled off their tongues so easily.

Oh Christ, those _bloody ambiguous things_ they were always saying to each other... Stuart had already begun to wonder whether other people had already caught on to them, too, or if it was just his paranoid mind which was far too concerned about the whole _JohnandPaul_ business going on.

Usually, John would ask or say things that would cause Paul to giggle and blush, but somtimes Paul would say something that could almost be considered as plain dirty while shooting a heated look at John, whose lips would be curled up into a wolfish grin.

If only Paul had been a bird, because then Stuart would have given both John and Paul the good advice to fuck and get their public foreplay over with. But seeing as how things were, he felt rather helpless.

He didn’t want John to be a queer – not because he would have a problem with it – but rather because he wanted to save him from all the horrendous things people would say and do to him then. He couldn’t care less about Paul, since that boy already looked like a pillow biter but not  _his_  John.

Stuart decided to talk with someone else about it, as his concerns and worries had simply become too much for him to bear with. It might not be entirely fair to John, but he simply had to share his thoughts with someone else close to his friend.

Someone like Cynthia.

*

He waited for her at the room where her next lesson  _without John_  would be held. Chewing on his fingernails, he glanced in both directions of the corridor every few seconds. He knew it was a wrong thing to do but all he wanted was reassurance from Cynthia herself that not a single ounce of queerness was in her boyfriend.

Voices, loud and animated, filled the emptiness of the hall and soon Cynthia and her fellow students had come around the corner. As soon as Stuart spotted her in the hallway, he walked up to her and grabbed her by her wrist.

“May I talk to you for a second?”

“What? But what about my classes...?”

He didn’t reply, only dragged her away from curious eyes and ears. When he had finally found a secluded corner that seemed appropriate enough, he came to a halt, and Cynthia groaned in annoyance.

“Listen, Stu, this is not funny. I really need to be there in time because of the exam.”

“I just want to talk with you about John.”

“John?” She frowned, obviously confused. “Why him? Did something happen?”           

“I don’t know, but maybe you can tell me.” He raised his eyebrows, but Cynthia shook her head, irritated.

“Either you tell me what’s wrong with him or I’ll leave.“

She was already turning away when Stuart finally asked her, “What’s that going on between him and Paul?”

The girl froze immediately at his strange question. She turned around slowly and gave him an odd look.

“What do you mean?”

Stuart shrugged, sighing. “Well, you know... They’re acting a bit weird around each other, don’t you think?”

“What on earth are you on about...?” Her face darkened a little, her voice low.

Looking around to see if no-one else was there to hear what they were talking about, he stepped closer. “Do you think that they...?”

“Huh?”

“You know,” he sighed, rubbing at his neck,  “Haven’t you noticed this  _thing_  going on between them?”

Still frowning, Cynthia tried to understand what he was implying. She blinked a couple of times, still utterly confused.

“I-I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t understa –”

“Fucking hell, Cyn! How daft are you? Do you really want me to say it out loud?”

She opened her mouth, but then his words seemed to make all of a sudden sense to her and her eyes widened in shock.

“Don’t you ever dare think such a thing!” she hissed and poked his chest. “He’s certainly not a queer!”

“Sure?”

“Yes!” Her low voice was raised a few octaves and came out as a high-pitched shriek.

Stuart lifted his hands up, beckoning her to calm down. “Okay, I believe you,” he said and breathed out in relief, “I just thought that he and Paul...”

“ _What_?”

“No, no... It’s all right. If you say he’s okay, I’ll believe you. I suppose I just needed some... confirmation.” He laughed airily, but Cynthia wasn’t amused in the least.

“He’s  _confirmed_  it often enough, just so you know!”

“Fine then. See you and John later, eh?”

She nodded her head curtly and sauntered away quickly with loudly clacking heels. Her cheeks were bright pink from Stuart’s foul thoughts and heat spread out through her whole system – she was just so angry that she would have loved to show him what she really thought of his absolutely insane ideas. But during her exam and the well-deserved lunch break afterwards, when she watched John and Paul acting in the strangest way with their own language, doubts began to seep in slowly.

They were just good friends, weren’t they...?


	23. Chapter 23

The first rain shower for the day had begun to pour down while Paul was preparing to leave school. He had hoped that the day was going to be nice and the weather wouldn’t be too bad, but now that it was raining down like mad, his and John’s plans of meeting up and going out to the cemetery for a little peace of mind and a ciggie without anyone watching them seemed to be cancelled.  
   
With a disappointed grunt, he buttoned up his thick black coat and lifted up his schoolbag.  
   
John was already waiting for him outside underneath the roof, leaning against the Inny’s wall like an even cooler version of James Dean, face hidden beneath the collar of his beloved uncle’s coat.  
   
Paul’s cheeks flushed lightly when he spotted John and the grin on his lips could barely be hidden.  
   
“Good afternoon,” he said as he finally approached his friend; he had some serious trouble with not walking too quickly or jumping John’s bones the moment he was standing right in front of him.  
   
“What took you so long? Did you get lost or something?” was John’s loving reply in his sarcastic, grumpy voice, typical of when he was pissed off.  
   
“Sorry, but my teacher wouldn’t let us go until we had finished copying the stuff from the blackboard.”  
   
John rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh and a disapproving click of his tongue.  
   
“I suggest we go somewhere else or we might drown in the rain,” he said and opened the umbrella he had nicked from Julia earlier.  
   
“And what do you have in mind?” Paul asked, joining his friend underneath his shield against the heavy rain drops when they started walking.  
   
“I dunno?” John shrugged, “What about the pictures? Haven’t been there for a while now.”  
   
“You went there last week with Cynthia,” Paul reminded him with an arched eyebrow.  
   
John grinned back at him, shoving his shoulder playfully. “’S not the same.”  
   
“Not?”  
   
“No. I can’t do naughty things with her there that would be considered as a criminal act,” he explained with a cheeky smirk and caused Paul’s cheeks to glow.  
   
He coughed awkwardly as he tried to hide his stupid grin but seeing as John’s expression looked just as silly, he stopped fighting it.  
   
*  
   
As they walked to their bus station, they would occasionally bump against each other’s hips or Paul would take John’s hand in order to pull the umbrella to his side – without any specific intentions,  _of course_ , such as touching as much as possible without attracting other people’s attention.  
   
Their subtle flirting went on while they were on the bus to the city (knee nudging and poking arms and ribs), and it continued after they had exited the bus and walked down the road to the cinema and finally ordered their tickets (more bumping and absolute unnecessary touching as they tried to find some coins in John’s old leather purse).  
   
The film they had chosen was  _Jailhouse Rock_  and there was still plenty of time left until it began. Since John had paid for the tickets (and had lied quite successfully about their ages to save some money), Paul was feeling generous, too, and bought them a larger bag of popcorn and something to drink. The seats John chose were in the very last row. The cinema itself was practically empty, but the few other people who unfortunately happened to be there, were sitting in the front rows – which left enough room for the two boys to do all sorts of illicit things as long as they kept quiet.  
   
Unlike John, though, Paul was now more excited about watching the film and much to the other’s dismay and frustration, he didn’t catch on John’s hints at wanting to do ‘stuff’. Whenever Paul reached for their shared bag of popcorn, John would follow his movements suit, hands brushing. Paul would flash a sweet smile and direct his attention back to the screen where their idol, Elvis, was having a fight in a bar.  
   
Letting out an awkward cough while stretching himself, John put his arm around Paul’s shoulders. It seemed to have the desired effect on the other boy, because now Paul finally stopped chewing and John could sense that a faint, rather sweet blush tainted his cheeks. Paul always blushed when he showed some affection.  _Always_.  
   
John loved every second of it.  
   
“Macca,” he crooned into Paul’s ear with a low, soft voice while he placed a hand upon the other’s thigh and drew slow circles with his fingertips. His hand went up a little bit further to Paul’s crotch, but was immediately stopped when said boy suddenly crossed his legs.  
   
“What do you think you’re doing?” he whispered, somewhat appalled. Even in the dim light, John could see his big eyes and shocked face. “People could see you.”  
   
John smiled mildly. “Those in the front rows? Not very likely.” His hand, which was still nestled between Paul’s legs, squeezed the latter’s leg briefly and resumed the lazy stroking. “Come on, love...”  
   
He nuzzled Paul’s cheek and covered it with light kisses, eventually beginning to brush his lips along the other’s jaw and throat, where he stopped to suck lightly on the exposed skin. Paul whimpered silently, eyes closed, and parted his legs slowly. John’s hand was just too convincing and the bulge that had unfortunately begun to form in his trousers simply begged for some attention. Paul moaned quietly into John’s ear, his breath hot on the tender skin, and placed his hand top of John’s head, petting his hair gently.  
   
“Sh, Paulie, you don’t want to arouse suspicion, now do you?” John laughed quietly with a wicked leer and kissed him, while in the meantime he had begun to tease Paul through his trousers.  
   
“Christ…” Paul’s breathing hitched.  
   
His hips started to move slowly against John’s hand which in return applied some more pressure, rubbing against his clothed arousal. Quickly enough, their shared kiss turned into a lewd, wet snog. Paul even almost bruised John’s nose by kissing him too forcefully. John winced and in return, Paul gave him an apologetic sweet kiss on the tip of said violated extremity which was happily accepted.  
   
As Paul’s orgasm neared, silent sounds of pleasure escaped him, his breathing ragged.  
   
The hand that had been lovingly stroking John’s auburn hair was now taking a fistful of it and pulled his head backwards, allowing Paul to cover John’s throat with kisses and love bites.  
   
Fuck those other people around them.  
   
He let out a silent cry when he finally came and sucked vigorously on the soft skin of John’s throat in order to stifle his moans, leaving his own red mark there. The movements of John’s hand were slowing down and Paul brought his lips up to John’s mouth again, kissing him deliberately slowly and with so much tenderness that John thought his heart was going to burst with love for his younger friend.  
   
“You’re mad as a hatter, ” Paul then chuckled with a tired smile and rested his head upon the other’s shoulder.  
   
“Am I?” John asked, surprised at the random remark.  
   
“Mh-hm... Doing naughty things in such a place...”  
   
“Well then you’re just as mad as I am. You let it happen in the first place.”  
   
“Mm maybe.... that’s because I simply can’t resist your wicked ways.”  
   
He tilted his head slightly upwards, kissed the crook of John’s neck, and rested his head again on his shoulder. Yawning softly, Paul closed his eyes and eventually drifted off into a light slumber, comfortably nestled against John’s side and not giving a rat’s arse about the current state of his stained underwear. There were always worse things to worry about; for instance bad marks at school, a bad show or, which was probably the worst of all, people who might find out about them.  
   
But for now, both of them were simply happy and content about the way they sat snuggled up to each other in their seats in the lulling safety of the darkness of the cinema.  
   
*  
   
It was late afternoon when the film ended and when the two boys finally arrived at home. They were greeted by the soft sounds of someone who was clearly sobbing. John and Paul shared a worried look and went into the direction the muffled sounds were coming from – their parents’ bedroom. Julia was sitting in front of the bed with her head resting upon her knees, arms wrapped tightly around her legs, body shaken occasionally by soft, or sometimes harder, tremors.  
   
“Julia...?” John said with a weak voice and left Paul’s side, quickly walking into the room.  
   
He sat down next to her, his face scrunched up into a worried expression, and put his arms around Julia’s trembling body. Paul was standing at the door and watched the scene, feeling slightly awkward and unable to move. He was just as helpless as John when it came to comforting the now silently crying woman, who was usually such a strong person.  
   
“Julia...?  _Mum_? Please, tell me what happened,” John begged with a quivering voice while he was running a comforting hand up and down her back and gently stroked her beautiful red hair.  
   
But Julia only tightened her self-embrace as if to shut everything out.  
   
John shot a puzzled look at Paul, silently saying ‘ _Help me_.’  
   
Certainly, there wasn’t much Paul could do in such a situation and he wasn’t a magician who only needed to wave his hand and then everybody would immediately feel better again – although he would have fancied such an ability right now. All he could do was join John on the floor and put an arm around Julia as well, hugging her in honest anxiety.  
   
“Did something happen to my Dad?” he managed to croak out after a little while with a throat that felt much too dry and tight at the moment.  
   
It took Julia a couple of seconds to shake her heard, but during that moment, Paul feared for the worst. Losing another parent was the last thing he needed.  
   
“What happened then?” John inquired with an unusually soft voice and brushed a few strands of hair from Julia’s wet cheeks behind her ear and shot a glance at Paul.  
   
Finally, she looked up, and her red eyes and puffy cheeks were a horribly pitiful image.  
   
“Nothing...” she whispered, hiccupping, and wiped her wet face on her sleeve, “Nothing.”  
   
“Yeah, I can see that,” John muttered, “Tell me. What happened?”  
   
Julia stared down at her hands and closed her eyes, breathing in and out slowly. “Just another argument with your aunt. As I said,  _nothing_  happened.”  
   
“And what did she say to you that got you so upset?!”  
   
But Julia shook her head and got on her feet. “That’s none of your business, John.” She avoided her son’s angry stare and left the bedroom, straightened her clothes and fixed her dishevelled hair as she disappeared through the door.  
   
John turned his head and faced Paul, not quite believing what had just happened. The confused and forlorn look in John’s eyes tugged at Paul’s heartstrings and so he shuffled closer to him and wrapped his arms around John's body. It wasn’t until now that he noticed that John was also imperceptibly shaking.  
   
“Sh...” he soothed him and kissed his auburn hair, resting his forehead against John’s temple.  
   
“She never tells me anything.” John muttered angrily under his breath and closed his eyes. “That’s the privilege of parents, I suppose...”  
   
“Yeah.” He laughed joylessly and fell silent shortly afterwards.  
   
While they were sitting on the floor in the dark bedroom with the rain crackling against the windows and the storm howling outside, both boys were wondering what had upset John’s mother so much and why she refused to tell them.


End file.
